


The Strangers in Middle Earth

by JJAndrews_Writing



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christian Character, English History references, Medieval, OC centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 101,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJAndrews_Writing/pseuds/JJAndrews_Writing
Summary: John Harris was a knight fighting in the service of his uncle, the Baron of Widford, for the cause of the House of York.  In 1485, King Richard the Third was killed in battle and the House of York was crushed with him. Fearing for their lives, John, his uncle, his cousins and a band of fellow Yorkist survivors feared for their lives, when fate played a strange trick on them. Instead of arriving in London, they find themselves cast a world away from England to a land on the brink of falling into darkness, in a war between good and evil. This is Sir John's story, his version of the War of the Ring.
Relationships: OC/OC
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

  


**The Strangers in Middle Earth**

**Or**

**The History of the War of the Ring as seen by the Honourable Men of the English Company**

**Written by John Harris, Lord of Barataur**

**A Part of the Englishmen’s War of the Ring Collection, Saint Estë’s Library, Osgiliath.**

**The First Part of the story of the Erucaunion Bloodline**

**Translated by J.J.Andrews**

  


Chapter One

The Road to London

It has been many years since the war. It has been many years since I blindly galloped through the veil of reality from one world to another. His Majesty has asked that I, and many of the other heroes of the war, write our own accounts of the conflict which ended the Third Age. Naturally, this is done not just for the sake of posterity, but also in the hope that by remembering our sacrifices, future generations will not have to face the same darkness which we fought against, and instead live forever in glorious summer.

The best place to begin my tale would of course be the beginning. My name is John Harris, and when this tale begins, I was only a young knight in the service of my uncle James, Baron of Widford. By the calendar of my old world it had been one thousand four hundred and eighty five years since the time of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the great series of wars which had divided England for years, the conflict between the Houses of York and Lancaster, had flared up once again. The terrible wars, which had seen many brave men and innocent women and children die, among them my own father who fell in battle at a place called Tewksbury, had been believed to be over and England would be united at last under the reign of his majesty Richard the Third. One morning, I cannot recall the exact date though it was shortly before we left home, I was standing outside the forge in my uncles castle with Richard, my cousin a year younger than me. We both had the typical Harris features, dark brown hair, a stocky build and long nose, though he had his father’s grey eyes but mine were the brown of my mothers.

‘Are we going to be waiting here all day?’ Richard asked while he casually swung his mace around, trying to hit a particularly stubborn fly.

‘Of course not,’ I answered with a grin. ‘Probably just most of it.’

‘I do have things to do you know.’

‘Like what?’

‘You know, important things.’

‘The blonde one or the red head?’ I laughed as his face turned red from embarrassment. ‘Why do I even ask? It’s always the redhead.’

‘What can I say? I’m a man of excellent taste.’

‘Not according to your father. Still, my new sword’s almost ready. Shouldn’t be too long.’

‘You said that an hour ago.’

‘I mean it this time.’

The door to the smithy opened and Wat, the smith, emerged.

‘It’s ready Sir John,’ he said and nodded, leading us into his place of work.

The place was neatly organised, his forge at one end still glowing, shelves everywhere were covered by all manner of weapons and tools, axes, arrow heads and daggers, while on a table at the far end of the room was what I came for, covered by a cloth. Wat’s apprentice, Philip, was next to it as well, smiling, clearly impressed at his and his masters work.

‘Did it turn out well?’ I asked them.

‘One of my best,’ Wat answered as young Philip pulled the cloth away.

Beneath the cloth was a perfectly made bastard sword, Philip picked it up and handed it to me. The blade was within a wooden sheath wrapped in leather. The decoration of the leather was intricate, a pattern displaying a hunting scene with a group of riders pursuing a stag through a forest, but my focus was on the sword itself. Each arm of the cross guard had a garnet stone at its end and the pommel was ivory and carved into the shape of a unicorns head with garnet eyes.

‘It’s perfect,’ I said and nodded, drawing the shining blade from its sheath.

‘Sir John, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t start swinging the sword in here,’ Wat suggested.

‘I’m sorry Wat. I’ll take it to the training yard. You’ve done an excellent job.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll make sure my uncle gives you the money.’

Richard and I walked out of the smithy and towards the training yard, fortunately only a short distance away. A few of our men at arms were training with sword and axe but I approached a straw dummy and drew my new sword, ready to see how it felt in hand. I swung, hacked and stabbed, cutting into the dummy with a broad grin on my face. It handled well, a fine weapon.

‘You like it then?’ asked Richard.

‘It’s exactly what I needed.’

‘I thought you preferred a poleaxe.’

‘I do, but it’s always good to have a good sword, just in case.’

‘I suppose so. Still,’ he said swung his mace into the head of a dummy, knocking the whole thing over, ‘I love this. Are you naming it?’

‘I’m torn between Edwin and Alaric,’ I answered.

‘Alaric,’ Richard told me.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. He toppled Rome didn’t he?’

‘You two!’ came the shout across the yard and the two of us looked towards my other cousin, and Richards brother, Marcus, older than me by two years.

‘Is there a problem?’ I asked him as I sheathed my new sword and walked towards Marcus.

He and his younger brother looked almost identical, except Richard had very short hair and a short beard while Marcus was clean shaven with shoulder length hair. Their facial features though almost made them twins.

‘Father needs to talk to us. It sounds serious. Come on.’

The three of us went through the large castle until we reached the keep and from there to my uncle’s solar. My uncle was a formidable looking man, broad shouldered, still strong despite his years and still with a fire in his eyes. He looked like a much older version of my cousins, recently passing his seventy first year, his shoulder length hair had turned white since my father, his brother, was killed. Next to him stood Aunt Elizabeth, his Irish wife who bore no resemblance to her sons except their ears.

‘What’s happened father?’ asked Richard.

‘Henry Tudor,’ he answered. ‘He’s landed in Wales and has men flocking to his standard.’

‘Meaning it’s our turn to give the Lancastrian’s a kick up the arse,’ Richard laughed.

‘Of course.’

‘Can we at least think about this?’ asked Marcus. ‘King Richard’s recent actions and rumours of his marriage plans aren’t very good to show what the rest of his reign will be like.’

‘I agree,’ I entered the discussion. ‘What sort of man steals a throne and then plans to wed his niece? What he did to his nephews, I mean you were there uncle.’

‘I didn’t see anything happen to the princes,’ he sighed. ‘The matter’s simple, our feelings on the king don’t matter, I hold these lands on behalf of my king and we are bound by duty to serve him. I’ve already sent out the call to the levies.’

‘Are you sure about this father?’ asked Richard. ‘If we lose, we lose everything. I say we follow the Percy’s lead.’

‘I trust the Percy’s as much as I trust my horse, only when they’re under a steady hand,’ my uncle growled. ‘I have fought in the name of the House of York my whole life, my brother died in their name and I’ll be damned if I switch sides now. We ride south in two days. Get yourselves ready.’

‘So be it,’ I agreed and nodded my head with respect before looking at Aunt Elizabeth. ‘My Lady,’ and bowed before leaving.

  


There are few things more remarkable than an army on the march, with tens of thousands of people marching together under brightly coloured banners. My uncle had brought with him a force of three hundred men, seventy bowmen, two hundred men at arms and the rest were cavalry. As our small track joined the main road the army was advancing on, my uncle ordered Sir Robin Shortfellow, his master of arms, to lead the rest of the contingent into the column while he, myself and my cousins went to meet with the king who was at the head of the line. As we rode along the length of the army, I looked over them and I was impressed. We had a collection of knights, billmen, spearmen and bowmen, a few crossbows here and there, and even cannons.

‘James!’ someone called out and ahead of us I spotted my uncle Thomas, my mothers brother.

He rode towards us and shook hands with my uncle and then with me.

‘Sir Thomas, I’m glad to see you’re here. I spotted the Percy’s banner as well.’

‘Indeed, the Earl of Northumberland arrived just an hour ago. They’re already in Leicester.’

Leicester was where our army was to assemble before marching against Henry Tudor. The four of rode along the army until we reached the walls of Leicester. Thousands of men were marching past the city towards Ambion Hill where the encampment would be made while many other soldiers were already walking into the city. There was to a battle soon and, as men on campaign do, they were intent on enjoying themselves before they faced their death. We found one of the kings household soldiers and he told us where to find the king, at an inn called the Blue Boar. The inn was busy with a lot of men and servants going in and out, and the king it was revealed was in an upstairs meeting room. We entered together and bowed.

‘Baron James,’ Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, said when he saw my uncle.

‘Your Excellency,’ and then to the king, ‘Your Majesty.’

‘It’s been a long time James,’ King Richard said to him.

King Richard was strange man, a deformity of his spine making him stand somewhat strangely, though the thick clothes he wore hid most of it. I also knew his reputation as a skilled warrior and commander so apparently his spine did not hinder him. However, the most disturbing thing was how normal he appeared, considering what many said he did to his nephews and his plan to marry his niece.

‘Indeed it has,’ my uncle answered him. ‘How long was it since I was last in London?’

‘Far too long James. When we defeat Tudor I intend on celebrating,’ he told me. ‘I’ll be honoured if you were with me during our victory feast and the tourney.’

‘I will be there, my king.’

‘Perhaps I can have you put your sword arm to good use in the same manner you did after the Battle of Towton.’

My uncle visibly grew slightly paler at the mention of that terrible day where, after the battle, my uncle had been commanded by King Edward to dispose of fifteen men he had deemed traitors. With his massive sword, my uncle had personally beheaded each of them, and it was not something he liked being reminded of, despite the formidable reputation it gave him. One of the men he had beheaded was Sir William Whitefox, who had been granted Widford Castle by Queen Margaret while my uncle had been in exile in Dublin and my father in Calais where I was born.

‘We shall see. I have brought three hundred men, where will you need them?’

After explaining what sort of men my uncle had, the king decided that our infantry would stand as part of the right flank while our cavalry would be under the kings command.

‘I’d like my nephew to lead my infantry,’ my uncle then told him.

The king looked at me with curious eyes and I tried to maintain my dignified expression.

‘Why?’

‘He’s a good fighter, I think he deserves a chance to prove himself, and a chance to start making a name for himself.’

‘Don’t want him sitting around your castle forever?’ Percy snidely remarked, earning a scowl from my uncle but nothing else.

I was angry at the remark, a jab against my father, but I held my tongue, not willing to start an argument with one England’s most powerful men. From the corner of my eye I saw that Richard was ready to say something but Marcus silenced him with a look.

‘No need to be rude, Henry,’ King Richard. ‘Well, Sir John, do you feel capable of leading your uncles men at arms into battle.’

‘It would be an honour, Your Majesty.’

‘I didn’t ask if you were honoured, I asked if you are capable.’

‘I think so, sire.’

‘You think so. Very well James, your nephew can have the position. If he does well he may find himself rewarded with the fruits of victory. Traitors loose castles after all and are granted to loyal men. We will march towards Ambion Hill tomorrow where we will meet Henry Tudor. Get yourselves ready.’

‘We will be ready, my king.’

As a group we then left, heading to our part of the armies encampment while I thought on what he said. My own castle, something I had always wanted, while I tried to not think about the knight and his family who would lose it.

  


King Richard of the House of York was slain the next day, the 22nd of August, but my uncle, my cousins and I survived. Knowing the fate of many people like us who fought against a king we decided to make our way towards London, England’s capital city, where we would swear fealty to the new King of England and hopefully my uncle would keep his lands and titles. If he didn’t, well, we would never have to work that out. Rather, destiny in all its wisdom had decided on a different path for us, a path which began on the road to London.

A day away from London we, along with a large group of about a hundred men, travelled along the road. Fifty of us were knights, with the remainder being squires, yeomen and mercenaries. A priest was also amongst our number, Father Harold, who we had met just before the battle. He had been a chaplain to a knight who had been killed so he decided to travel with us for now. Our whole party was mounted, in addition we also had our pack horses making us a very large group indeed. It slowed down our speed, if it had just been myself and my family we would already be in London, but together we were going much slower. I rode a black courser named Julius, a horse with a good temper and remains the finest beast I have ever ridden to war on. My armour and polearm were being carried on a pack horse but I had Alaric at my belt.

‘Do we make camp tonight?’ I asked my uncle.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘We ride through the night and with any luck we’ll reach London by dawn.’

‘Alright,’ I said though I was tired. I wanted a good nights rest before reaching the city, but we needed to get there to welcome Tudor.

‘If I ever meet Lord Stanley again, I’ll kill him,’ Richard growled.

It had been a miracle that my cousins and my uncle had survived the battle. They had been in the midst of King Richard’s charge against Todor and his knights only to then be surrounded by Tudor’s pikemen and that traitor Stanley’s knights. The same could not be said for any of the knights my uncle had brought with him, all of them having died so my family could escape. My uncle Thomas had been amongst those killed by a lance through the armpit from one of Stanley’s men. As for the infantry I commanded, I had no idea where they were, many of them were killed in the heavy fighting while the Earl of Northumberland, that coward, didn’t even commit any of his forces. Most of my men had been killed in the retreat after we heard the news that Richard was dead.

‘He’s probably licking Tudor’s boots by now,’ said Marcus.

‘If you see Stanley again, don’t do anything,’ my uncle snapped at them. ‘Like it or not, he’s one of the main supporters of Tudor now and any insult against him will be an insult against his master.’

Forlornly I looked up to the heavy clouds above us, realising it was about to start raining and, not keen on getting soaked, I pulled up my cloak’s hood. The road we were going along was one of the old Roman roads, in places their stones were still there but often they were dirt tracks, sometimes we passed a group of peasants who stayed out of our way but for most of the journey the road was empty. With bands of soldiers going about in times of war it was always wise to remain at home whenever possible.

The ambush came out of nowhere. One moment we were riding along, and the next arrows were raining down amongst us, a few men fell from their horses and I drew my sword. In the trees on either side of the road I saw dark figures moving about, cloaked but some wearing tabards showing the colours of the Stanley family.

‘Come and fight us!’ I shouted, drawing Alaric.

‘Hell with that!’ my uncle snapped. ‘Ride! Everyone ride and stop for nothing!’

He commanded his destrier to gallop along the road and I did the same. Everyone followed his lead and the pack horses followed their brethren as we stampeded our way along the road. We were going so fast that I barely noticed the path ahead of us getting darker until it was too late.

I plunged into the darkness just after my uncle and suddenly I was blinded by the bright lights streaking past me and almost deafened by the beautiful music both tragic and joyful, capable of driving a man from the depths of despair to the heights of euphoria. The next thing I knew I was riding across an open plain.

After a second when the shock wore off, I pulled hard on the reins, forcing Julius to stop and after a moment he did so, but I could tell he was terrified. Behind me there was a lot of shouting, so I looked over my shoulder to see my uncle calming down his horse and behind him the rest of the retinue we were with. Some men and their horses crashed into each other, pack animals were charging around uncontrollably while a handful of wounded men desperately clinging to their beasts. Father Harold lost the grip of his horses reins and was thrown off, letting out a loud cry as he did so.

‘What?’ I asked, trying to work out how we could go from being on the wooded road to London to open plains in the middle of nowhere.

‘Calm down!’ my uncle shouted. ‘Everyone calm down!’

‘CALM DOWN!’ a mercenary by the name of Jason, a rough looking man missing half of his left ear, then bellowed from his horse and his booming voice like a cannon shut up everyone.

‘Thank you,’ my uncle said to the rough man before facing the rest of the company. ‘I don’t know what just happened, but have you noticed we’re losing our pack horses? Go and get them back at once!’

At that the squires started darting after the pack animals on their small, swift horses, the yeomen going with them. As they did so, some men checked on Father Harold and it turned out he had badly twisted his ankle when he fell and one of the men, Sir William Montague, leant him his poleaxe to use as a walking stick for the moment. It took about half an hour but soon all but one of the animals was discovered, Edmund, a merchant who was with us, said he saw one being hit by an arrow before we ended up wherever we were.

‘Not too bad,’ my uncle said after being told this and then asked for a few of the leaders of our group to talk with him.

Edmund and Father Harold were amongst them, as was Marcus of course, though he also asked the mercenary Jason to join them and Lord Robert Monfor as well. He was a noble from near London who had joined us after the battle.

While they talked the rest of us waited, gathering our animals together and, in general, talked while waiting.

‘So,’ said Richard, ‘what just happened?’

‘No idea. I was riding and then, did you notice the road getting dark?’

‘I thought I imagined it. The music though. Did you ever hear anything like it before?’

‘No. It was incredible. It felt like the voices of angels.’

‘I know. It was beautiful.’

‘What was it?’

‘I think,’ he said, unusually pensive, ‘that’s a question best left up to Father Harold.’

‘Speaking of,’ I said as my uncle and the others approached the rest of us.

‘Gather together,’ my uncle said and we all stood before him. ‘To put it simply, we’re not sure what just happened. It could be a miracle, it could be an accident, we just don’t know. For now, we will stay together. Take stock of our food supplies and we start riding within the hour.’

He then opted to stand apart from the rest of us while the squires got to work on checking our supplies. My squire, Aiden, went missing after the battle and I had no idea where he was, I hope he was taken for ransom by the enemy, his family could afford to pay it. Soon we were riding over the gentle hills and amongst the outcrops of rock of this land we had found ourselves in. Finally, we spotted some smoke on the horizon as we crested a hill, my uncle and the other leaders of our group discussed it for a moment before he turned to look at us.

‘The smoke looks like it’s coming from a large fire, or at least a few of them. John, take five men and check to see who they are.’

‘Of course, uncle,’ I then started to recruit a team to go with me.

Of course I selected Richard, with him I also asked that a pair of brothers, Thomas and Mathew Fendrel, Yoemen archers, would come along. There was also Sir Jacob Green, a young knight who I had seen in the battle and he had fought well with his morning star, the shaft made of reinforced wood and almost four feet in length. His squire, Nicholas, a young lad of about fourteen, came with us as well, he was armed with a mace and a one-handed sword, his shield was slung over his back. The five of us rode over another hill to reveal the village down beneath us, and it was not a pleasant sight. The settlement was made up of about fifty or so houses, all burning. There was a smell in the air as well, smoke mixed with burning flesh.

‘Poor bastards,’ said Thomas.

‘Richard,’ I said to my cousin, ‘go and tell Barron Harris that the village has been destroyed. We’ll search the place.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me here?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think your father would want the both of us down there, now we know it is dangerous.’

‘Alright. Just be careful down there. Whoever attacked the place could still be about.’

‘We’ll be careful.’

He rode back towards the rest of the company while I led the four other men down into the village. We carefully went past burning houses until we reached what could have once been a common or market square. There was a large pyre of burning corpses, the source of the smell and I had to look away. Around the pyre were tall spikes in the ground topped by severed heads of men and women while a few children were impaled whole, one of them, a boy of about eight, looked like he had still been alive when he suffered that cruel fate. Villages being looted was just a part of war but putting everyone to the sword and desecrating the bodies like this was wrong.

‘Who in God’s name did this?’ asked Mathew.

‘Not sure. It’s too brutal for the likes of Tudor.’

‘Bandits?’ suggested Sir Jacob.

‘This village is too big a target for that,’ I answered, and I looked on the ground.

Weapons and pieces of armour were scattered about, plenty of broken arrows as well and I picked up the end of one of them. The fletching was of low quality, looking like the feathers came from two different birds, and had been roughly handled.

‘Mathew, Thomas, take a look at this.’

‘Whoever did this didn’t look like they cared,’ Mathew said and looked at his older brother.

‘You’re right. It’s like they just didn’t care.’

‘Do you know anyone who uses arrows like these?’

‘No. Even the poorest poacher would use better arrows.’

‘This just doesn’t make sense,’ I muttered. ‘Alright, Sir Jacob, you and the boy take a look around the village west, I’ll take the east. Thomas, Mathew, stay here with the horses and call out if you see anything.’

I drew Alaric and began to walk amongst the houses, passed blood stains splashed across walls and the occasional severed limb on the ground. Just as a went past a house where the fires had gone out I saw on the ground a long axe, covered in something that looked like blood, but was black. Then came a noise from behind me, a wheezing grunt, so I spun around and only just managed to block the sword blow.

Opposite me was a creature from Hell itself, large and muscular with reddish, obsidian skin, yellow eyes and fangs. Its crude armour was made from leather and animal skins while its sword was more like a butchers cleaver with a spike at its end. It swung again and I recovered from my shock just in time to block before I jumped back.

‘Help!’ I shouted as this demon charged at me, roaring.

Again, I blocked its blow before I swung and managed to cut into its arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh. It didn’t even notice, instead it continued its attack. I parried three more blows before I saw an opening and ran the beast through its belly. It roared one last time before falling to the ground, dead. Just in case I put my sword at its neck and pushed down as hard as I could until Alaric’s blade reached its neck bones.

Drawing my sword back I saw it was coated in black blood.

‘What happened?’

It was Mathew Fendrel, longbow in hand.

‘This thing attacked me,’ I told him and he noticed what I had just fought.

‘God’s teeth,’ he gasped.

‘That’s what I was thinking. I’ve never seen it’s like before.’

‘It’s a devil from Hell that’s what it is,’ he said and approached nervously before looking at me again. ‘I saw your uncle and the others riding in a moment ago. What do you want us to do?’

‘We’ll show him this, Father Harold too.’

‘Alright.’

When the leaders of our company got to see the corpse of the beast they had a similar reaction as mine. Father Harold gave it an inspection and then, with the help of Marcus, stood back up, wincing while gripping onto the polearm.

‘It’s no demon or devil,’ he said. ‘Neither is it a beast of the natural world that we know.’

‘Then what is it?’ asked Marcus.

‘I’m not certain. I doubt a sword wielded by a normal man could slay a servant of Lucifer, so it must be of the mortal world. It’s as if, some sort of black magic created something out of men and beast. Look at its fangs, they look like the teeth of a wolf, but it stands like a man.’

‘It’s horrible,’ growled Jason but then looked at me. ‘At least we know we can kill the bastards.’

‘We’ll keep moving,’ my uncle decided. ‘One of the yeomen, Callum, said he saw tracks heading east. We’ll follow them.’

‘What if they lead us to this things friends?’ I asked him.

‘We’ll cut them down,’ he simply answered and took hold of the hilt of his claymore.

While we had been looking at the corpse the others were looking through the village for supplies, but nothing was left. Our journey took us over more of the hills which made up the terrain of this country. A few of the yeomen under Sir Jacob’s command volunteered to ride ahead as scouts. Unfortunately, they didn’t bring us any good news. They soon found a little hamlet which was in the same state as the village, but this time there was no sign of the beasts, just a dozen or so men wearing crude leathers and mail armour. Our bowmen soon finished them off and after searching the town all we found were the dead. The people there hadn’t been thrown on a pyre at least and they came to about twenty bodies. By then it was getting late so my uncle decided we would camp there that night, and we buried the bodies. Father Harold performed their funeral rights as well. Instead of a headstone we used some timbers to make a cross and carved on it with a knife, “We know not their names, only that they fell.”

That night, as I climbed into my tent, I thought about what had happened that day. I had killed a monster, we’d found a village and a hamlet in ruins and dozens of people dead.

And so ended my first day in Middle Earth.


	2. Chapter Two The Reeve and His Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving in this mysterious land, the company encounter a small isolated farm home to an honorable man and his son and daughter.

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

**AN: I’m glad to see this story has been received well so far, and I also noticed that I am an idiot who forgot to include an Author’s Note at the start of the last chapter. Oops.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and please leave reviews, I love reading them. Have a great day folks.**

Chapter Two

The Reeve and His Farm

The next morning we packed up as quickly as we could and ate a meagre breakfast of jerky and bread. There was a well in the hamlet so we managed to refill our skins before journeying on again.

I rode alongside Richard as we went ahead of the main group, following on a road which was basically a dirt track made by centuries of use.

‘The good thing about being on a road at least is that we’re bound to find something eventually,’ Richard commented.

‘Yes but we still don’t know just what this something is.’

‘Try to be optimistic John.’

‘You’re the optimist, I’m the realist.’

‘No, I thought Marcus was the realist, we were the optimists.’

‘That’s when it’s all three of us together, when it’s just you and me I’m the realist and you’re the optimist.’

‘I can be realistic too.’

‘Oh?’

‘That smoke ahead suggests that there is something interesting.’

I looked east and saw a thin trail of smoke snaking up into the sky.

‘Not enough smoke for a burning village,’ I said.

‘It could be another hamlet.’

‘Let’s go and tell your uncle.’

We rode back along the road, about a quarter of a mile, until we found the company, my uncle at its head.

‘Uncle, we spotted smoke a few miles away. Not enough for what we saw yesterday.’

‘It could still be trouble,’ he said and looked at Robert.

‘I say we get off the road and investigate. If more people under attack by those monsters, we have to help.’

‘Aye let’s go crack some monster skulls,’ said Jason.

‘Are you sure we should risk ourselves?’ Edmund the merchant asked. ‘If it’s trouble, we could find ourselves in a fight we can’t win.’

‘Father?’ my uncle asked the priests advice.

‘I say we help them,’ his soft voice advised. ‘I don’t want violence, but it’s the right thing to do now.’

‘It’s decided then. Robert, you take half the men and go north, circle around the smoke and then move on it. I’ll lead the rest, including the pack animals, along the road. Tell the men to get their armour on. Don’t bother with the plate, just maille and gambesons.’

‘Of course.’

After that we all hurried to put on our lighter armour, I pulled on my gambeson and a shirt of mail as well as my sallet helmet. We were of course nervous in case there was going to be a fight, but it was mixed with excitement. Soon we were riding along the road while Robert led half the men cross country.

I was relieved when we saw what the smoke was coming from, there was a large farm ahead of us and none of the buildings were on fire. Instead the smoke seemed to be coming from a forge. The farm was made up of a dozen or so buildings surrounded by a fence. The south west portion was dedicated to a large enclosure which seemed to contain horses. The largest building looked to be a barn on a wide, low hill overlooking the enclosure and the next largest was a hill on a separate low hill east of the enclosure. The rest of the buildings looking to be pens for animals or workshops.

‘It looks fine,’ said Richard who then looked at his father.

‘Where are all the people?’ he asked before leading us down the road.

We passed the enclosure, the horses inside looked at curiously, and we went along the fence, I chuckled when Julius, my fine black horse, seemed to be interested in the horses in the enclosure, until we reached a gate leading into the farm. That was when Robert and his half of the men appeared over a hill to the north, they joined with us as we all dismounted.

‘Robert, you stay with the men here. I’ll take a look around,’ my uncle told him. ‘Marcus, John, Richard, Father Harold, come with me.’

‘If a fight breaks out, I won’t be much good,’ the priest told him, looking at his still aching ankle.

‘I need you for advice, not yours sword arm, and with any luck they will be able to help you,’ my uncle answered. ‘Robert, keep everyone else out here. Don’t break anything, don’t steal anything.’

‘Of course, we won’t,’ he answered.

‘Still, have the Fendrel brothers keep their bows out and keep an eye on us.’

‘I see sir.’

Richard opened the gate and the four of us walked into the farm. It was strange, as if everyone had vanished suddenly. First we saw the hen coop, there was a trough next to it filled with seed.

‘Looks like they were fed today,’ said Richard.

Next we looked at the forge where the embers were still glowing crimson and about fifteen horseshoes were sitting in a pile. Freshly forged as well, some of them were still warm. It was similar at the pens for the pigs and the goat, their water and feed troughs were full and the animals were well cared for. I looked into a small hut and saw wood shavings were piled up and carpentry tools were set in place. We started walking up to the house next, sitting on its little hill. The roof was thatched and the walls seemed to be made of wattle and daub, though the chimney looked to be stone.

‘I hope someone’s home,’ said Richard.

‘We can say this place wasn’t attacked,’ Father Harold suggested. ‘I think the people have probably gone to a nearby town. If packs of those savage men and beasts are roaming the countryside, they may have just gone to a walled town.’

‘Makes sense, but why leave the animals?’ Marcus asked him. ‘There’s a goat, three pigs, I’m sure one of them is pregnant, at least twenty hens and those horses. There’s a small castles worth of horses there.’

‘All of them are well bred,’ my uncle agreed. ‘I’d be honoured to own one.’

We started up the hill, but halfway towards the house, the door opened and two men emerged from within. Well, one was a man but the other couldn’t be more than fifteen. The man, who I thought was about fifty, was blonde with a neat beard and dressed in scaled armour, a very old style of helmet on his head and a long green cloak while he held a sword in his hand. The boy was dressed the same as the other, except he wore a shirt of maille instead of scaled armour, and in his hands, he carried a long axe.

I reached for Alaric, Richard did the same with his mace, but Marcus and my uncle remained calm.

‘Who are you?’ the man in scales asked us.

‘James Harris. Baron of Widford.’

‘Widford? Never heard of it.’

‘I’m a long way from home.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘We found two destroyed villages yesterday. We saw the smoke from your forge and were worried you’d been attacked as well.’

‘I see. Well, where were you headed?’

‘Just following the road.’

‘You’re clearly not Orcs,’ the man said and sheathed his sword. ‘Neither are you men of Dunland. I’ll tell you what,’ he then removed his helmet, ‘you order your men to not steal anything, and I’ll let you in.’

‘Father are you sure?’ asked the boy.

‘Of course, I’m sure. Now, Baron, my name is Cerdic, Reeve of these lands, the boys my son, Cenric.’

‘My sons, Marcus and Richard. This is my nephew, John. This is Father Harold, a priest.’

‘Welcome to my home then. Cenric, go and tell his men that they can come onto the farm.’

‘Yes father,’ he agreed, but was clearly not happy.

‘Wait,’ Cerdic stopped his son. ‘Baron, I need your word that your men will behave themselves. If they try to steal my property, then as reeve I have the authority to punish them in the name of King Théoden.’

I had no idea who this Théoden was, but my uncle kept a straight face.

‘Reeve Cerdic, if any of my men steal from you, I’ll help you punish them.’

He allowed a grin onto his face and Cenric went off to let the rest of the men in. Cerdic led us inside of his house, it was small but comfortable, the living room was home to a large fireplace where various items for cooking were waiting. The rest of the room was filled with a table, chairs and a few armchairs. Over the fire was hanging a large round shield, painted green, and the shape of a white horse crossed it.

However, the house was occupied by two people, an old man with one eye and wearing a worn leather apron and holding a hammer. The other was a woman who was about twenty with blonde hair and wearing a dress of moderately good quality.

‘My servants and farm hands are gone,’ Cerdic explained as he sat in one of the chairs. ‘Except for old Wemba that is. He’s been my smith for years.’

‘Are these men trustworthy?’ Wemba asked his master.

‘Far as I can tell,’ he answered. ‘Oh, and the girl’s my daughter, Sunniva.’

‘Thank you, father,’ she said, annoyed at being described in such an off hand way.

‘So Baron, how did you come to be the West Fold? Please sit down.’

My uncle did so while I made to stand away from them, not wanting to be in the focus of anything.

‘We were travelling through our homeland, England,’ he explained.

‘England? Never heard of it.’

‘I see. We were travelling towards London, our capital, when we came under attack. Next thing we knew, we were riding across the plains of this country.’

‘I think he’s mad,’ said Wemba.

‘Silence,’ Cerdic shut the man up. ‘I know what mad men look like and this Baron isn’t one of them, neither is he lying. Some sort of wizardry at work here.’

‘Are there many wizards about?’ Father Harold asked him, clearly concerned.

‘Saruman,’ said Sunniva. ‘He lives in his fortress to the north, he’s been a friend of Rohan for years, but he’s been sending packs of Orcs across the kingdom for weeks now.’

‘Thank you, daughter,’ Cerdic added. ‘The girl’s right, the Orc’s are probably the ones who destroyed those villages, but he’s been sending larger ones, brutal creatures who neither fear the sunlight or us.’

‘I know what you mean. My nephew here ran into one of them. He managed to kill it.’

‘Well done, John wasn’t it?’

‘Thank you Reeve Cerdic.’

‘You’re welcome lad. Aside from Saruman there’s Gandalf Greyhame who was seen in these lands some months ago, riding north. I don’t know where he’s been since.’

‘Is he an enemy as well?’ asked Harold.

‘He’s always been a friend, though we thought the same of Saruman.’

‘What has your king been doing about it?’ my uncle enquired. ‘Surely he’s called a levy to fight this wizard?’

‘The king is ill,’ he answered, shaking his head. ‘All power now lies in the hands of his chief counsellor, Grima Wormtongue.’

‘I would have thought a man named Wormtongue would be kept as far as possible from the throne.’

‘He was once well respected,’ said Sunniva. ‘Now he’s become a tool of the wizard, or so they say.’

‘The kings son has been wounded. There is no one left in Edoras to fight this swine and save our country. Prince Eomer, the king’s nephew, opposed Wormtongue and had him exiled, though I hear he still leads loyal men against Saruman.’

‘Edoras is your capital?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How far away is it?’

‘At a hard ride you’d be there in a quarter of a day.’

‘It sounds like this Wormtongue needs to be removed,’ said Richard.

‘I agree but there’s nothing I can do. A lot of the riders have already left, run off with Eomer and are fighting the Orcs wherever they can. Besides, my duties as Reeve are only for collecting taxes, I can only levy troops when the crown allows it.’

‘You don’t need to. I have close to a hundred men at my call. As a Reeve surely you have enough reason to attend court.’

‘Are you asking me to help you with a coup?’ Cerdic asked, surprised at how blunt my uncle was being.

‘I’m suggesting that we put an end to Wormtongue. Besides, there has to be at least one other member of the royal family besides the king in Edoras who we can support, or we can find a way to bring back this Eomer.’

‘Eowyn,’ said Sunniva. ‘She’s Eomer’s sister, I’ve had the honour of serving as a lady in waiting to her until my father decided it wasn’t safe in Edoras.’

‘I suppose so. You could never take Edoras with only a hundred men though. It’s not the greatest fortress in the world but its defences are still formidable. They’re only allowing men of Rohan into the city anyway, well, men of Rohan or of Gondor.’

‘I’m neither. This farm isn’t defensible, how long are you going to stay here?’

‘Once the Orcs come close, I’ll ride for the hills with this lot. We’ll make for Helm’s Deep, it’s our countries greatest fortress. I’ve sent my workers there already.’

‘It’s a good plan Reeve Cerdic. Will it be able to hold?’

‘Saruman’s armies have only attacked villages and farms, they’re not able to besiege a castle, not yet anyway.’

‘Then I wish you good luck. I think our next stop will be Edoras, there has to be something that can be done about this worm.’

‘I don’t see what you can do, but I wish you good luck.’

‘Thank you. It’s nearing midday and by the way you described it, the odds are my me will be riding until nightfall. I’d rather not ride at night, would you be willing to board my men until the morning?’

‘I suppose so. Sunniva, how’s our food stores?’

‘Not enough for a hundred men,’ she explained and crossed her arms.

‘We have our own food with us.’

‘Glad to hear it. We have a bunkhouse for our workers, either that or you could sleep in the barn, there’s a hayloft up there with enough room.’

‘At my age I’d prefer a bed,’ my uncle laughed. ‘Still, these young ones can sleep in hay tonight, I’ll take one of the bunks.’

‘Thank you, father,’ Richard chuckled.

‘We do have plenty of ale though,’ Sunniva added. ‘We have two dozen casks of cider and plenty of mead.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ Richard said with a broad grin.

‘Only if Reeve Cerdic agrees to share his ale,’ my uncle reminded him.

‘I always share my ale with guests,’ he chuckled.

‘I’m grateful. Father Harold here fell from his horse yesterday and twisted his ankle. Do you have anything that could help him.’

‘Just a moment,’ said Sunniva and she went off to get a poultice.

…

Father Harold, my uncle, Jason and Sir Robert and the other seventeen oldest members of the were given a bed each in the bunkhouse while the rest of us laid out our sleeping rolls in Cerdic’s large pile of hay in his barn. After we laid out our bed rolls, we busied ourselves with cleaning our weapons and armour and trying to stay occupied.

I was at the forge on the farm with Wemba as he sharpened my sword on the grindstone. It’s always fascinating watching a professional at work, the ease at which they carry out their duties. Before me was a man who had dedicated his life to working metal. He finished off the sword and handed it back to me. After shaking hands with him I headed across the farm yard, planning to join Richard who was showing off his mace work to some of the squires near the pig pens. Halfway there I looked up at the house where Cerdic’s daughter, Sunniva, was walking along while carrying a basket of something. I did decide to head in her direction, after all she was an attractive lady.

‘Good afternoon,’ I said as I came level to her.

‘Afternoon. It was John wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right. What are you doing?’

‘Feeding the goat. Now that the servants have been sent away, I’m picking up the extra work.’

‘Will you need any help?’

‘Not really, it’s just a basket of peelings. That beast will eat anything short of stone, just need to put it in front of him.’

‘Sounds like my cousin.’

‘You can walk with me if you want.’

‘Thank you, Lady Sunniva.’

‘You don’t need to bother with calling me a lady. My father wasn’t born noble, he didn’t inherit this farm.’

‘How did he come to be a Reeve then?’

‘Hard work. Basically, he was smart enough to sort out the money for a lord years ago. He got so good that he was made Reeve for these lands and the farm came as one of the benefits.’

‘I see. He’s done well for himself.’

‘And for me and my brother.’

We reached the goat pen and Sunniva poured the peelings into the trough for the animal which began eating before she had poured them all in.

‘You were right, he does eat everything.’

‘He eats things even the pigs would say no to.’

‘Marcus thinks that one of your pigs is pregnant. Was he right?’

‘They’ll be here in a fortnight.’

‘Good. How much will you get for them?’

‘I think we’ll get about fifty pennies each if we’re lucky. Still, the main business is horse breeding, we have three expecting mares.’

‘I saw the horses, they look brilliant.’

‘Us Rohirrim are practically born in the saddle. We have the finest cavalry in the world.’

‘Do all your riders use horses of that quality?’

‘Most of them do. Horse breeding is the main source of money for the kingdom. Even in Gondor a lot of their officers ride our beasts, even Orcs have been known to try and steal them.’

‘In that case, I wouldn’t want to fight Rohan’s cavalry.’

‘Trust me John, you wouldn’t. Anyway, I’d better get back to work.’

‘Will you need any help?’

‘I don’t think so. Just one other thing, what’s the meaning of the unicorn?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The unicorn on your sword. I was wondering what it’s there for.’

I realised she meant the ornate pommel, the ivory unicorns head. I drew my weapon and handed it to Sunniva who studied decoration for a moment before I explained its meaning.

‘My mother died three years ago now. Her families crest features a unicorn with red eyes, when I commissioned this sword, I wanted it to honour her.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said with a sad and knowing look in her eyes. ‘It’s a fine tribute to her, Sir John,’ as she passed me my weapon back I saw her looking past her and then she sighed. ‘I think you might need to keep your men from embarrassing my brother. Well, not too much anyway.’

She pointed over to where Richard and the squires had been gathered to see that Cenric had joined them. It was clear the he looked like a younger version of his father now that he was not wearing his helmet, only with no beard. He was demonstrating how to use his axe alongside the squires while Richard looked on. I approached them and saw Cenric explain how good a weapon the long axe is.

‘You can hook a man behind his neck, by his ankle, you can pull out his shield.’

‘Have you used it yet?’ asked a squire by the name of Simon.

‘Well, not yet no. But I know how.’

At that there was a chorus of laughter from the squires, all of them had been there fighting against Tudor.

‘Some of you were still green as grass a few weeks ago,’ I said, coming to the boys defence.

‘Sorry Sir John,’ one of them, Malcolm, apologised.

‘Still Cenric, when the time comes, good luck.’

That evening we ate our rations of jerky and bread, though Cerdic did make sure we could have some goat cheese as well, and the promised alcohol soon arrived. Sunniva herself emerged from a small room in the barn with a keg and started serving it.

‘What is it?’ I asked as I poured myself some of it, though at once the smell informed me as to its contents.

‘Mead,’ she answered. ‘I make it myself, it’s a hobby.’

I sniffed it and began drinking.

‘It’s nice.’

‘I used black berries in it. Adds just a little extra flavour.’

‘You did a very good job with it,’ I complimented her work.

‘Thanks Sir John. I’ve also tried it with raspberries, straw berries, anything really.’

After a short while I found myself with my two cousins leaning against the fence as we finished our drinks. Most of the men were on the side of the hill by Cerdic’s house while one of the yeomen, an archer by the name of Oswald of Jarrow, was playing a merry tune on his pipe.

‘What have you and the other leaders been working on?’ I asked Marcus.

‘We’ve been trying to work out where to go next. We’re heading for Edoras tomorrow morning, what we’ll do there, well, we’re thinking about contacting this Saruman.’

‘The wizard? Why?’ I asked him.

‘Witchcraft may have brought us here, or so Robert justified it, but at the same time it might send us back.’

‘But hasn’t this wizard been sending those monsters out across Rohan?’ asked Richard.

‘We only know that from Reeve Cerdic. For all we know, King Théoden might have attacked first. Edmund pointed out that either way, it’s not our war and we need to get back to England.’

‘Did Father Harold agree with this?’

‘No, he objected, so did Jason. They were outvoted by everyone else.’

‘You just voted the way father said?’ asked Richard.

‘Of course. That’s why I’m there.’

‘I’m not sure if we can trust a wizard,’ I told them.

‘I’m not sure either but unless we can track down this Gandalf, Saruman’s our only choice. If this Grima is one of the wizards men, he might be willing to help us approach him.’

‘And if he isn’t?’ I asked.

‘We’re not sure. We just need to trust in God and common sense.’

After supper many of us stayed up a while longer, listening to music, Wemba had brought out his own pipe and he and Oswald fell into a musical contest to the merriment of us all. Father Harold though was one of the first to go to bed, he had acquired a proper walking stick as well from Cerdic, it had belonged to a farm worker who recently died. Before he went into the bunk house though I went to speak with him.

‘Father Harold, are you alright?’

‘The cane’s perfectly made. It’s easier to walk now. A few days and I’ll be back to normal.’

‘Not about that. It’s about dealing with a wizard.’

‘To be honest John, I don’t care for the idea of cavorting with wizards and their blasphemies. I’ve met plenty of lunatics hiding in caves and in the woods making fire turn green with iron ore and I didn’t like any of them. If there is no choice, we should go to him, if their isn’t, we must be prepared to face any danger. Now, if you don’t mind, I am an old man and I need some sleep.’

I went to bed eventually, and fell into a deep sleep in the hay, thinking about what destiny would bring us the next day, troubled by the idea of this Saruman.

**AN: So, a note on the changes I made from the original story. In this chapter, I’ve made a large change to Sunniva and her family. In the original my idea for Sunniva’s father was that he was a man who made carts and wagons but that was never mentioned, aside from the fact that there are wheels outside of Sunniva’s house in the original. Here I made him a Reeve, loosely based on the Anglo-Saxon position, but I didn’t make them a major noble house or anything like that. I also wanted to give Cerdic some actual character, in the original he’s killed before John and Sunniva’s first meeting. I also made Cenric a bit older because I’m not very good at writing young child characters.**

**Also, after coming up with the name’s Cerdic and Cenric I actually found out there was a father and son Cerdic and Cenric in real world history, they were the father and son leaders of a Saxon raiding group who carved out a kingdom in Southern England in the years after Rome abandoned Britannia.**

**So, everyone’s thoughts? Please leave a review and have a great day.**


	3. Chapter Three The King and the Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John and the rest of the company well rested after spending the night at Cerdic's farm, they set out for Edoras. However, they soon encounter a strange group.

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Three

The King and the Wizard

At dawn the next day we rose, one or two nursing a hangover, and we got ready to depart from Cerdic’s farm. My uncle offered him money for housing us but he turned it down.

‘In dark times such as these, we must offer charity to good men and hope they will return it someday.’

‘Should the day come, I will be happy to do so.’

We said our farewells to them who remained there before we climbed onto our horses and resumed out journey. I stole a fleeting glance at Sunniva before we left and nodded at her, she in turn returned it and waved us off. Before we’d even gone half a mile Richard started looking at me with that look which suggested he was coming up with one of his usual witty remarks.

‘What?’ I asked him.

‘So, you were paying a bit of attention to Cerdic’s daughter?’

‘Just being polite cousin. Unlike some I don’t see women as something to pursue half drunk around a tavern.’

‘I’ll have you know I only ever go after women when I’m sober, they come after me when I’m drunk.’

‘Keep telling yourself that,’ Marcus added. ‘Doesn’t your purse always get lighter after those chases?’

‘Silence the three of you,’ my uncle told us. ‘I’m getting tired of hearing you discuss Richard’s awful taste in women.’

After this we travelled in silence, the main noise coming from Oswald as he hooted away at his pipe, creating some music. For entire day we rode on, passing through a small hamlet which, to our relief, hadn’t been destroyed. The fifty or so people who called it home allowed us to eat lunch there, Edmund the Merchant agreed to pay them for the mutton and bread they offered. After that we continued riding for many more hours, but our progress was slowed by a surprise rainfall which turned the dirt road into mud. We stopped under a copse of wild apple trees until the weather improved but by then it was almost nightfall. Therefore we made camp beneath the trees and slept far less well than we did at Cerdic’s barn.

Dawn came clear though and we made good speed as we rode as fast as we could while still remaining as one group. Eventually my uncle decided we should stop for an hour to eat and rest, but not long before we began riding again Jason shouted to get our attention.

‘Someone’s coming!’ he yelled and pointed to the north east.

At once we were all at attention. Though we were not wearing our armour we would still be capable in a fight, however we did not ready our weapons in case they were friendly. Jason was correct, there were a group of riders to the north east of us, but they were riding south, not south west towards us. Furthermore, as there was only three of them, they were no threat.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Marcus.

‘They are riding towards the road, though to a point ahead of us,’ Edmund concluded.

‘They might have information,’ Father Harold added.

‘So we talk to them? Alright,’ and before any of us could stop him, Jason took in a deep breath and let out a bellow. ‘HO THERE!’

Everyone glared at the grizzled mercenary and if looks were capable of striking a blow, he would have been a dead man.

‘They’ve seen us,’ said Edmund. ‘Here they come.’

‘On your horses everyone,’ my uncle instructed. ‘I’ll go ahead and talk to them. John, Richard, Sir Jacob, Sir Philip and Sir Gad will be my guards. Father, come with me as well, I’ll need someone with good sense to give me advice.’

‘I’ll come too father,’ said Marcus.

‘No, stay here. That’s my decision.’

My cousins and I knew their fathers idea, that if these people were dangerous and killed both him and Richard, then Marcus would be able to lead the Harris family. He often did this, much to the irritation of all three of us.

Those my uncle named rode towards the strangers, my uncle leading us until we came face to face with the strangers, and they were indeed a strange group. One appeared to be a normal man with dark hair and a short beard, as for the others, they were unusual. My guess that they numbered three was incorrect, instead they were four one of the horses was being shared by two people. One rider was very tall with long blonde hair and a bow across his back, though for a reason I did not yet understand, his ears were pointed, making me think of the Fairy of Widford, a local story in the area of my uncle’s lands telling of a witch with pointed ears who wondered the woods and rivers around Widford. His riding partner was as strange, being just over half my height, yet with a beard of a length I’ve never seen even on the oldest of abbots. His armour as well appeared to be of a high quality, carved with simple yet strong patterns, and he was armed with axes. Strangely enough he seemed to be looking at my uncle with a confused yet greatly interested expression. The final member of their group was an old man, with long white hair and clad in a clean grey cloak, in his hands a white staff, and his eyes as youthful as those of a twenty-year-old man.

‘Good afternoon,’ the old man said in a friendly tone.

‘Good afternoon,’ my uncle apologised. ‘I’m sorry that my man distracted you from your own journey, but I would like to ask you some questions.’

‘You are forgiven my friend, though I would ask you your name before we talk further.’

‘Of course. I am James Harris, Baron of Widford. This is Father Harold of the Holy Church, my youngest son, Richard, and my brother’s son, John. The other men serve as my guards.’

The dwarf amongst their company looked at my uncle with astonishment there while the old man shot him a look for only a moment, if I had blinked there, I would not have seen it.

‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Baron. Would your brother happen to be among your company?’

‘Sadly my brother died many years ago. Now, what was your name?’

‘My name is Gandalf.’

At that Father Harold shifted in his saddle, all of us who had spoken to Cerdic knew why as well. This man certainly looked the part of a wizard.

‘Aragorn,’ the dark-haired man said, ‘son of Arathorn.’

‘Legolas Thranduilion.’

‘Gimli, son of Gloin.’

‘Now we’re all acquainted,’ said Gandalf, ‘I would like to know why you are travelling to Edoras.’

‘We are close?’ my uncle asked him.

‘Only a short ride away.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. As to why we are going there, you may have gotten rid of my reason for going there.’

‘How so?’

‘Are you the same Gandalf known as Gandalf Greyhame? A man known to be a powerful wizard?’

‘Greyhame is indeed a name given to me in these lands, and yes, I am Gandalf the wizard.’

‘In that case, I need your help. I and my men need your help. My story may sound the stuff of madness but I promise you it is the truth. Only days ago we were in our homeland, England, when something happened and by some kind of magic we found ourselves in Rohan. We heard a rumour that the leaders of Edoras had a connection to a wizard and we hoped that he may be willing to send us back. However, we’ve heard of you as well, so please, if you know a way for us to return to England, share it with us.’

Neither this Gimli or Legolas seemed surprised by what my uncle had told them, Aragorn looked surprised but not as much as I’d expected while Gandalf, well, he almost looked like he had been expecting it.

‘I understand, and you are not the first who has passed through the barriers between worlds.’

‘We’re not?’

‘Indeed, you’re not. However, the business which takes me to Edoras cannot wait. Your men may come with me if you wish, for there is trouble in that city which I would see put right.’

‘This depends on what your mission is, wizard,’ Father Harold sternly told him.

‘The wizard Saruman has turned the king of Rohan into his puppet while his armies rampage across the country. I will put this right.’

‘We’ve seen the devastation this land has suffered,’ my uncle told the wizard. ‘You stand against Saruman?’

‘I do.’

‘I see. Fine, my men will accompany you.’

‘There’s a river over the next hill. Once we cross it, I will ask that most of your men remain there. I fear that otherwise the guards of Edoras will shut the gates on us.’

‘I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same. Very well.’

‘Baron,’ said Father Harold, ‘may I speak with you in private?’

‘Of course. Excuse me, Gandalf.’

The two rode a short distance away and spoke quietly, though I could tell that by the tone of my uncle’s voice he did not agree with the words of the priest. After only a few minutes they returned.

‘We’ll join you in your mission, Gandalf.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

Our company travelled the way to the river, which Gandalf explained was called the Snowbourne, where the road sank into a ford. That is where we divided our company and my uncle selected who would come to Edoras with him and Gandalf. Myself and Richard were chosen, alongside Marcus surprisingly, Sir Nicholas Percy and Sir Henry Cannagy. Gandalf also requested that Father Harold come along as well. Marcus and Edmund were left in charge at the ford, which served as a good chance to water the horses, while the rest of us began to gallop towards the city. We emerged over a hill and onto a wide-open plain covered by farmers’ fields. At its centre stood a lone hill, home to Edoras. It was not what I was expecting, instead of a large walled city like London, this place was a very large town and its walls were wooden instead of stone. Yet it was certainly a nice looking place, and at the top of the hill was what I first thought was hall of gold, shining in the sun.

‘Beautiful,’ said Father Harold.

‘I think so too,’ Gandalf said with a smile that Father Harold tried to ignore. ‘This is Edoras, and at its heart is the Golden Hall of Meduseld, the seat of power of King Theoden. By now Saruman must have near complete control over the mind of the king. We will not find friends here, only danger.’

‘God watches over me,’ Father Harold answered. ‘Over all my companions. How can we expect to be defeated?’

‘Good words Father Harold,’ said Sir Henry.

‘We shall deal with whatever awaits us,’ Gandalf asserted before he led us towards the city.

We rode past a number of burial mounds covered in delicate white flowers before reaching the gates of the city itself where about half a dozen men in deep green cloaks and mail stood before us, the gates of the city barred. The style of their equipment was, unsurprisingly, like Reeve Cerdic’s, though of a slightly lesser quality. The leader of these men then shouted at us in words I did not recognise and just before Gandalf could speak, Father Harold cleared his throat and responded in kind in the same language. We all looked at him, surprised that he would know this and for a moment I wondered if he had been blest as the Apostles were at Pentecost. After a few exchanged words the guards began speaking in the same style as we had with Gandalf.

‘Your companion knows our tongue, though he is rough with it. Either way, by the order of Theoden King, none but our own countrymen may pass through these gates while we are at war. Your friend, Harold, claims that you are no friend of Saruman and that you wish to help us.’

‘He is correct in that, as is all else he told you. Still, surely a man who knows your tongue is evidence enough that we are trustworthy of entering your city. To learn it he must have been a friend of your own people at some point.’

‘That may be true, and if it were up to me I’d let you in, but it is not up to me. Grima Wormtongue himself ordered that none were to enter the city.’

‘Wormtongue,’ snapped Gandalf. ‘Say no more of him. My business is with your king, not his advisor. Go to him and tell him that we are here.’

‘And what names shall I give him?’

‘I am Gandalf, I ride upon Shadowfax. My companions are Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, Gimli, Son of Gloin, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. Before you is also Baron James of Widford, his son Richard, his nephew John. Guarding us are the knights Sir Nicholas Percy and Sir Henry Cannagy. Go now and tell your lord we are here.’

‘Your names are strange and are of places I have never heard, but yes I will tell my king you are here. Wait a while. I shall return soon.’

He went into the city and while he was gone I whispered to Father Harold.

‘Father, where did you lean their language?’

‘When I was studying as a young man, I spent some time at Jarrow, the monks there have records written centuries ago, I even managed to read some of the documents penned by Bede the Venerable himself. I had to learn the tongue spoken by Edwin and Oswald to read them. These men were speaking the same tongue, or at least a similar one.’

‘That’s strange.’

‘Not really, everyone else speaks the same tongue as us, don’t they?’

That was when the guard returned to his position.

‘Theoden King has given you leave to enter, though you must leave any weapons at the threshold of the Golden Hall. Follow me.’

The gates were swung open to reveal the inside of Edoras, a massive number of wooden houses were clustered together as our guide led us up a paved path of stones. Many of the people we passed looked downhearted, not surprising since their land was being attacked again and again by the forces of Saruman. At last we reached the top of the hill, the Golden Hall itself was before us and I looked at the shining beacon on top. I at first thought that the roof was made of gold, but I was surprised to learn that it was actually thatch.

‘This is where I leave you,’ the guard said and proceeded back down the hill as we finally dismounted our horses.

We walked up the steps of the hall where a group of men in armour almost identical to Cerdic’s stood before us.

‘Greetings, Gandalf Greyhame,’ he said politely and crisply. ‘I am Hama, of the Royal Guard, by the order Theoden King’s chief advisor, you must surrender your weapons.’

Gandalf nodded and, though I didn’t like this, I unfastened Alaric from my belt and passed it to one of the guards. We all did the same, my uncle handing them his claymore, Richard his mace while Nicholas and Henry gave up their weapons, a hammer and a one-handed sword respectively. A guard approached Father Harold who shook his head.

‘I’ve not held a sword in close to thirty years my friend. As a man of peace I carry no weapons, though I ask that you allow me to keep my cane, I fell from my horse a few days ago and hurt my ankle.’

‘Very well.’

‘Your staff,’ Hama then said to Gandalf who out of nowhere appeared to age another decade, leaning on his staff.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t rob an old man of his walking stick? You have allowed Harold to keep his.’

I noticed the look in Aragorn’s eyes, a slightly mischievous look. The look in Hama’s eye suggested he knew it as well and allowed us to enter.

As we passed the threshold and entered the hall I made eye contact with my uncle as he cracked his knuckles.

The inside of the hall was bleak to put it simply. None of the candles were lit and the hearth in the centre of the room held only a few weak flames. Numerous courtiers filled the room, men and women dressed in black, as well as soldiers. There was a third group though, rough looking men who did not stand with the discipline of retainers, but the killer look that matched men like Jason. These were hired muscle then.

At the head of the chamber sat two figures, one on a small chair was a pale, slimy looking man with long black hair. Next to him on a throne and clad in tattered robes which would have once been the finest garments, was a man who, if not for his faint, raspy breathing, I would have thought to be a corpse. The crown sat limply on his mane of wispy white hair, so this was Theoden King.

‘The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden King!’ Gandalf declared as the doors closed behind us, and the hired muscle began to walk level to us on either side.

Seeing this, Father Harold backed away, joining the ranks of courtiers, not willing or able to fight. However, he did so with a level of grace that suggested he belonged there all along.

The small man I guessed must have been this Grima, whispered into the kings ear.

‘Why should I welcome you,’ the king croaked, ‘Gandalf Stormcrow?’

‘A just question my liege,’ he said louder and began pacing towards Gandalf with incredible arrogance. ‘Late is the hour where the conjuror and his strange friends appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest.’

‘Be silent,’ the wizard snapped with the voice of a general. ‘I have not passed through fire and death to trade words with the likes of you.’

That was when Grima saw the staff in Gandalf’s hand and took a step backwards in panic.

‘His staff.’

Before he could say another word though, Richard stepped forwards.

‘Excuse me sir. Are you Grima Wormtongue?’ he asked him with upmost politeness and courtesy.

‘Of course I am!’ he shouted, still looking at the staff.

‘Excellent,’ Richard smiled.

He grabbed the small man by the front of his tunic and hurled him across the room into a pillar. For a second nothing happened, Grima’s hired men shocked that my cousin acted so quickly.

‘What?’ asked Richard as my uncle looked at him with disbelief. ‘A fight was going to start anyway. Speaking of which.’

That was when the brawl began. It was not my first, and I do admit not my last, fist fight. I rushed straight at a thug and we traded a few blows before I socked him in the side of his jaw, knocking out one of his teeth. I followed that with a kick between the legs and a punch to the face, knocking him out. I turned back to the brawl where the rest of us had quickly overpowered the remaining thugs, Richard had split his knuckles in the process. My uncle however was grappling with one of the thugs and I moved to help him when he shot me a look which told me to stand back. His face turning purple with the effort, he managed to hoist his enemy off the floor, holding him in the air as he struggled to break free. Then, in a devastating move, my uncle brought the man’s spine down onto his knee with a snap. The thug rolled onto the floor and screamed in pain as he tried to move his now useless lower body. He was silenced when my uncle kicked him in the head, knocking him out. It was extraordinary display of strength in a man my uncle’s age, but us in the Harris family are stronger than a lot of other men.

Strangely, none of Theoden’s guards had done anything to stop us, showing now just how unpopular Grima was.

‘Too long have you dwelt in the shadows,’ Gandalf said as he approached Theoden on his throne who only seemed to be barely aware of what was happening ‘Harken to me. I release you from his spell.’

Gandalf reached out his hand and I held my breath, expecting something remarkable. Instead the withered form on the throne started laughing at the wizard.

‘You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey.’

For only a moment I believed that this Gandalf was no wizard, but an old man pretending to be one, a mere charlatan out to win power with petty tricks.

He then threw off his cloak and I shouted in surprise as he revealed his robes of the purest white and from his figure emanated divine power. The head of his staff glowed with white light and Theoden pressed himself against the back of his throne. From the corner of my eye I saw Harold make the sign of the cross.

‘I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound.’

With his staff aimed at the king, Theoden began to twist and twitch on his throne as Gandalf worked to draw away the dark magic which had taken hold.

‘If I go,’ a different voice growled from the kings mouth, ‘Theoden dies.’

‘You did not kill me. You will not kill him.’

‘Rohan is mine.’

‘Begone.’

Theoden leapt from his throne only for Gandalf to strike him, throwing him back into the chair. Suddenly a young lady hurried to his side and held the king as he began to change. In seconds the decrepit old man seemingly lost fifty years, his limp white hair became the colour of gold the wrinkles vanished.

‘I know your face,’ he said to the woman who let tears of joy roll across her cheeks. ‘Eowyn. Eowyn.’

‘You are free once again my old friend,’ the wizard told him.

‘Gandalf? Dark have been my dreams of late.’

He rose from his throne and all of us bowed our heads in respect.

‘Maybe your fingers will remember their old strength better if they grasp your sword.’

Almost at once one of the royal guard appeared with a sheathed sword which Theoden drew and held aloft, all signs of frailty gone and only strength left in him. The strength though was soon replaced by anger as he locked his eyes on Grima Wormtongue being held in place by Gimli.

‘Hama,’ Theoden said with danger, ‘Gamling, I presume you would like to give Grima what he deserves.’

‘Indeed Your Majesty,’ Haa answered and, with another man,grinned.

Within moments the two men took hold of Grima and, one man gripping each arm, they dragged him from the hall and hurled him down the steps.

‘I think they enjoyed that,’ Richard whispered to me,

‘I enjoyed watching it.’

Theoden stood at the top of the steps of the hall, everyone inside had followed him out, and now he glared down at his former advisor.

‘I only ever served you my lord,’ the pitiful man begged.

‘You have said enough Grima. Leave Edoras now and never return or you will loose that head of yours.’

As soon as he said it, the small man started running away through the crowd of onlookers which had appeared at the sight of their king. After a moment a voice cried out,

‘Hail Theoden King!’

Everyone knelt to him, myself included, as we looked upon a man free of the taint of black magic. After a moment, the king of Rohan tragically realised who was missing from the gathering.

‘Where is Theodred. Where’s my son?’

**AN: So, unlike with my original version of this story, I decided to include some of them with the scene of freeing Theoden. The reasons for doing this will be apparent in later chapters.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are enjoying the story. Please let me know what you think and have a great day.**


	4. Chapter Three: The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reaching Edoras and aiding in freeing the king, a decision must be made and a secret is revealed.

After the ceremony those of us who were English went to The Black Bee, a tavern close to the Golden Hall. Edmund had spoken to the landlord who agreed to lend us the use of a large reception room on the upper floor. It was packed of course, the fairly large room filled with about a hundred or so men, plus a couple of the workers from the tavern coming up and down with trays of drinks. Oswald had started playing a tune, out of respect for the fact that we had just attended a funeral he was keeping it to a solemn one, I believed he may have been trying to imitate Lady Eowyn’s song.

I was sitting with my cousins, as well as the knights, Sirs Thomas Ridley and Valentine Poitier, the Fendrel brothers, Jason, Tancred, Lord Robert’s son, and Heinrich of Worms, the only member of our company who was not English. I had just finished my beer and was thinking about asking for another.

‘So, what’s this about?’ Richard asked Marcus and Jason.

‘Your father’s been meeting with King Theoden, Father Harold and the wizard since the funeral. Apparently, a pair of children turned up, they escaped from an attacked village.’

‘So, they’re deciding what to do next,’ Marcus carried on.

‘I overheard our fathers arguing,’ Tancred told Marcus.

‘So this is going to be interesting,’ I concluded with a smile.

‘I hope so,’ said Jason. ‘I need another ale. John? Want one?’

‘Please.’

He stood up to get them but then the doors leading downstairs opened and four people filed in. The first was my uncle, followed by Robert and Father Harold, and the last was Gandalf. The four of them took their seats at a table at the head of the room, my uncle and Gandalf at the middle, Robert to my uncles right and Father Harold on Gandalf’s left. Their arrival silenced the room and my uncle stood up at last.

‘My friends, the past few days have been interesting to say the least. Through some means we have travelled from one world to another. Now we must decide where we go next. Gandalf.’

The wizard stood up and began to speak.

‘The portal which brought you here have been seen before. You are not the first to travel from one world to another and I doubt you will be the last. Some study has been made of these portals but we do not know where they come from, we do not know what causes them and we do not know how to create more of them.’

That started some murmuring in the room.

‘I am sorry,’ the wizard told us, ‘but I do not know a way to return you to your homes.’

At that some men started shouting at him but my uncle slammed his fist down onto the table, silencing everyone. I did notice that Tancred looked angry at this announcement.

‘Gandalf has told me that a solution may be exist somewhere, but he does not know where. Therefore, we must decide now what we will do. Tomorrow King Theoden will evacuate this city and make for the fortress of Helm’s Deep. Furthermore, he has asked that we go with him and has offered us payment in return for our services.’

‘I’m not a mercenary!’ shouted one squire, Malcolm Buxton.

‘Shut it lad,’ his master, Sir Godfrey Boyle, snapped at him.

‘Thank you, Sir Godfrey. Now, as far as I can tell, we have two options. We either stay and help King Theoden or we set off to try and find a way home. Should we help the people of Rohan, we will be fighting in a war far larger than just the battle against Saruman. Gandalf, please explain to my men just what we will be in for.’

At that, the wizard began to tell us of the One Ring. How Sauron, thousands of years ago, fought a war that threatened to drown the world in darkness but was defeated. Now Sauron had returned and was seeking the Ring, but now he was ready to launch his campaign to conquer Middle Earth. Saruman was not the main threat but still a powerful ally of the Dark Lord.

‘As far as I can tell,’ Robert said once the impact of Gandalf’s tale had sunk in, ‘our choice is simple. This is not our fight. We go and try to search for a place where we can find a way home. This Sauron sounds horrible Gandalf, but you are an enemy of his so how can we know to trust your word?’

‘Because I speak the truth.’

‘And I want to go home,’ Tancred spoke up. ‘My wife is back in England, she is with child. I have to be there for them.’

‘Exactly. We all have people who we care for, we have lands to rule, we have responsibilities.’

‘Indeed we do,’ called out Sir Danial de Trafford.

‘Thank you. The plight suffered by Rohan has been terrible, but not uncommon in war. The Uruk-Hai are monsters, but does war not make monsters out of all men? I say we let these people fight on while we search for a way home before Henry Tudor hands our lands over to his cronies.’

That got a round of nodding from many of those present, though I noticed my uncle didn’t say anything or change his expression. In response, Father Harold stood up and looked straight at Robert for a second before turning to look at us.

‘Is land all you care for? Are titles all that matter to you? The kings of our old world have never cared about the matters of good and evil. All they care for is their own power. The same goes for church itself. Long ago it forgot its purpose, to lead the people away from darkness and into the light. Now we see this again here. Lord Robert is right, the lands you held in England may be taken by Tudor, but what does that matter? Gandalf says there may not be a way back and yesterday I may have ignored what he said. Now though, today I saw him free a man from the will of a dark wizard. What he did was not dark magic, the stuff of the Devil, but pure, cleansing power. I trust him after that. I trust in his advice.’

‘So you feel we should just do as he says and fight this Sauron?’

‘Yes. Neither am I saying we shouldn’t try to return, but for now, we must fight Sauron. Once this war is done we try to go home, not before.’

‘Or we leave this land. There must be a way back to England and if we search we will find it.’

‘And you can be free to do that, after Sauron has been crushed.’

‘It is not our fight.’

‘It is our fight, yours, mine, every man here. There may be no way back and if there isn’t then we are part of this world. It is our fight.’

‘And what do our men say?’ asked my uncle. ‘What do you all think? If we fight, you will be the ones who will bleed, you are the ones who will kill.’

No one spoke for a moment, ultimately the first to speak was Sir Nicholas Percy, a nephew of a cousin of the Earl of Northumberland.

‘My friends, Baron, before we go any further, I feel that we must settle the issue around the leadership of our merry company.’

‘Go on,’ my uncle said, impatience in his tone.

‘As the only member of the Percy family here, I am more than willing to take that burden off of your shoulders Baron. Afterall, a man of your age shouldn’t be burdened with this task.’

Everyone was silent, looking at him and then at my uncle whose face was impassive. At last he picked up the mug of ale in front of him and in five seconds downed it, before he stood up and hurled the mug across the room before it cracked apart against Sir Nicholas’s nose. Blood welled out as the man staggered from his chair and falling over.

‘Sir Nicholas,’ my uncle said in a scarily calm voice. ‘Your father is an idiot and your mother is a bloated old hag while you are the most useless member of the Percy family. Shut up, don’t say anything else.’

‘Alright I’m sorry,’ he blubbered while cradling his bloody nose.

‘Now,’ said my uncle, ‘back to business. Who wants to talk first?’

Sir Tancred was the one who spoke up.

‘I need to go home. I need to get back to my family. I’m not the only one either, a lot of us have wives and children in England.’

‘I don’t,’ Jason said and stood up, walking around the room as he spoke. ‘I have nothing except the clothes on my back, the armour in my room and my bill. I have no land and no name. I am the son of a whore, I was born under a bridge for goodness sake, and as soon as I was old enough, I left home and I never looked back. I say we fight Sauron, this Saruman and anyone else. All my life I’ve seen arrogant petty lords butchering people for fun, and this Sauron sounds like the worst of the lot. I don’t think there’s a way back, if there is then a wizard would already know it. We’re outnumbered, Rohan has a tiny army, and it’s not ready for war. But I say that if we fight now we have a chance to one day search for a way back to England if that’s what you want. Me, I don’t care if I go back or not, but I say we fight.’

There was no cheering, but I could tell that he certainly swayed a few opinions.

‘May I speak?’ asked an older archer, Aiden of York, his voice as soft as wool.

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you, Baron,’ he then stood up and looked around the room. ‘I have a mother back home, I have a wife, I have two sons. Unlike Jason, I have something to go back to. Yet, even then, if we find a way home and we didn’t fight against Sauron, I would never be able to look at any of them again and feel anything but shame. Will you be like that, Sir Tancred, or will you fight and make your wife proud of you?’

‘You speak out of turn,’ Tancred growled at him.

‘Do I? All my life I’ve minded my tongue, now I say we fight!’

‘Silence boy,’ Robert told Tancred who, clearly annoyed, seemed to sink into his chair.

The next to speak was Sir John Berry, encouraged to do so by his older brother, Michal.

‘All my life I’ve been a god-fearing man. If Father Harold says that it is my duty to fight Sauron, I will fight.’

After a few moments of no one speaking, my uncle stood up.

‘We shall put it to a vote.’

He then sent someone downstairs to get some parchment and Jason produced his kettle helmet. The paper was torn up into small pieces and each of us was handed one and a small piece of charcoal.

‘All who are in favour of fighting, mark your paper with a cross, all against, mark it with a line. We’ll pass the helmet around, put your paper in it, and then I will count the result. Whichever has the most votes, we will all follow the decision.’

I marked my paper with a cross, agreeing with Jason and Father Harold. To this day I do not know who voted for what, but for the next half an hour, for my uncle chose to count several times to be sure, we waited. At last he stood up and announced the result of the vote.

‘By a majority,’ he said, ‘we have voted to fight.’

Jason and a dozen others cheered, but most were silent, knowing we were again in a war. My cousins and I agreed to go and get some more to drink, but my uncle stopped us.

‘We need to talk, all of us,’ he said and led us out of the tavern, following Gandalf, into the Golden Hall which was, by now, mostly silent. Into a side room we went where a few chairs were set up,

‘When we met,’ the wizard told us, ‘I knew who you were, and I knew where you came from?’

‘By your powers?’ I asked him.

‘No,’ he said and smiled. ‘You are not the first to travel between worlds, but you are, as far as I know, the first to travel those paths for the last sixty years.’

‘Who was the last to do it?’ asked Richard.

‘His name, was Bartholomew Harris, Baron of Widford.’

‘What?’ Marcus shouted while my uncle nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said to us. ‘My father is here in this world, far to the north, at a place called Erebor.’

‘But,’ I asked, ‘how? How did he come through and so did we?’

‘I cannot be sure, but it is good fortune that you have come,’ the wizard said with a smile. ‘He’s spent the last sixty years trying to find a way back to England, and you have come to him.’

‘With all me heart I want to go to Erebor,’ my uncle told the three of us, ‘but my duty is here in Rohan until this war is over. The moment Sauron is defeated, I will ride north to Erebor and see my father again.’

‘And I’ll go with you,’ I told him.

‘As will I.’

‘And I.’

The four of us looked at each other, glad that we were all agreed, all of us knowing that soon we would meet Bartholomew Harris, a man my cousins and I only knew by stories.

‘You knew?’ I asked my uncle.

‘Gandalf told me before the vote. I didn’t want this to sway your opinion on it.’

‘I understand, but if you choose to go, the rest of the men will understand,’ said Richard.

‘I’d look like a hypocrite,’ he told his youngest. ‘Come on you lot, I need a few pints, and I wouldn’t mind seeing that prat Percy squirm.’

**AN: So this is the shortest chapter of this remake but I think it accomplished everything it needed to do. Also, I have been having problems with my computer lately so if there are any delays with updates, that will be why. I hope you enjoyed this update and let me know what you think.**


	5. Chapter Five the Journey to Helm's Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company, now in the service of the King of Rohan, journey to Helm's Deep with the people of Edoras. Little do they know what awaits them...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Five

The Journey to the Deep

We learned that the journey to Helm’s Deep would take about three days with all the people of Edoras walking while pushing their carts laden with supplies of food and clothes. Théoden only had around a hundred able bodied men with him, so we, as a hundred well trained and well-armed fighters proved to be a useful source of support, doubling his strength. We were mounted and rode along the column, acting as guards for the refugees, and soon everyone who was still at the farms near Edoras joined us. When we reached the ford we had crossed the day before, Théoden asked my uncle to send a few riders ahead.

‘You told me yesterday that Reeve Cerdic had not yet left his farm.’

‘That is correct, Your Majesty.’

‘I consider him a friend, so I would be grateful if you could send someone ahead to tell him to prepare to leave.’

‘Of course.’

I, Richard and Sir Jacob Green with his squire Nicholas volunteered to do that duty and we rode at a much faster pace than we had done over the last few days without the pack animals to slow us down, and the weather was good thankfully so we didn’t need to wait for ages until it was dry. As a result of this it only took us a few hours to reach the farm, but I was worried at what we saw at a distance. The forge was no longer burning and the enclosure’s for the horses and other animals were empty, except for the chickens which were still wondering around the farm. Once there we left Nicholas with our horses at the front gate and we checked the farm. Heading straight towards the house, no one came out to greet us so I knocked on the door.

‘Reeve?’ I asked. ‘Lady Sunniva?’

The door opened and we were greeted by Cerdic, not wearing his armour but in normal clothes.

‘Sir John?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing here?’

I told him what had happened in Edoras and the relief on his face was obvious.

‘So the king will be here soon?’

‘A few hours I think.’

‘Good. Come inside.’

He allowed us into his home to see Sunniva busy packing her supplies. She looked up and was clearly surprised to see us.

‘You’re back?’

‘Théoden King has returned to us,’ he told his daughter. ‘He’s ordered all the people to leave Edoras and travel to Helm’s Deep,’ then he faced us as we sat down. ‘I suppose you’re wondering where everyone’s gone.’

‘It did cross my mind.’

‘I sent Cenric and Wemba on to Helm’s Deep with the pigs, the horses and the goat. We’re leaving the chicken’s here, they’re cheap to replace.’

‘Why did you stay?’ I asked him.

‘To pack some valuables, we were going to leave as soon as we were finished packing but we’ll wait until Théoden King arrives.’

‘Good. He sent us ahead to make sure you’d be ready to leave.’

‘We’ll wait for him then; I’d feel happier travelling with guards for my daughters sake.’

While we waited, we assisted Cerdic and Sunniva packing their last few possessions for the journey. It was mostly food, two of Sunniva’s dresses and a few heirlooms Cerdic and Sunniva said they would refuse to leave behind. As for transporting it all, it turned out that not all of their horses were gone, in the barn was a two wheeled cart large enough for everything they needed with still a little room left, and a large brown dray horse was fitted to it. Standing next to the cart was a grey destrier, fitted and ready to be ridden.

‘His name’s Efesca,’ Sunniva explained as the two of us carried Sunniva’s trunk to the cart and loaded it on. ‘My father’s horse.’

‘Don’t you own one?’

‘I sent her on ahead with my brother. I’ll be driving the cart, my father will ride.’

‘I see. You know how to handle this beast?’

‘I’ve been driving carts since I was twelve. Byrpen here, he’s a gently giant.’

We pushed the trunk into place with a sigh and with that, the packing was finished.

‘So you’ll be safe on here?’

‘As safe as I can be, and considering that we’re at war with Saruman, no where’s safe.’

‘You’re probably right, I’m sorry if I offended you.’

‘You didn’t offend me, Sir John.’

‘John!’ Richard shouted as he marched into the barn. ‘We just caught sight of King Théoden’s column.’

Cerdic followed Richard in, now dressed in his armour and with a sword at his side.

‘We’ll get the cart down to the side of the road join the others,’ he told us and Sunniva climbed onto the drivers position on the cart while I opened the barn doors. We were waiting by the cart at the roadside as the first few scouts, Legolas being one of them, reached us. After a few exchanged words, Sunniva clearly being shocked to meet an Elf, he continued along the road. After that the column, headed by King Théoden, my uncle and Aragorn, came to us.

‘Reeve Cerdic, it is good to see you again,’ said the king.

‘You as well, Your Majesty, and in good health again. Sir John has told me what happened in Edoras. I am sorry for the loss of Theodred, he was a fine young man.’

‘He was,’ the king said with a look of haunting sorrow. ‘We still live though, and we ride to Helm’s Deep. I’m glad to see you’re joining us.’

‘All my servants and my livestock have already gone ahead towards the castle. Just me and my daughter here.’

‘I see. Well, there’s no point in waiting, let’s get going.’

The cart, it was decided, would travel further back in the column so the progress wouldn’t be interrupted too much if the cart was damaged. We made fairly good progress, considering most of the column were on foot and a good number were old men and women. As I was one of the guards for the journey I wore some armour, again not my full plate, but I did wear my gambeson, mail and had my helmet on my belt. Spirits were mostly high, but reserved, knowing that Saruman’s forces were afoot in Rohan and we wouldn’t be truly safe until we reached Helm’s Deep. Oswald, as usual, played his pipe as we travelled, a small cluster of children running with him on his horse, enjoying something to take their minds off of whatever was causing their parents so much worry. We rode on for the entire day until the sun began to set and King Théoden ordered us to set up camp. To decide who would be carrying out guard duties that night we drew straws and I was fortunate that I was a lucky one who would be able to get a full night’s sleep.

Supper that night was a pleasant affair, the king had ordered that all supplies were to be shared for the journey, so we had access to a decent stew that night, with bread and some jerky. Us English made camp amongst a cluster of large boulders, Oswald playing his pipe to keep up our spirits while Richard was telling everyone of his encounter with the Witch of Widford.

‘I wasn’t drunk,’ he insisted again as a few of us laughed, I’d heard this tale before.

‘Of course, you weren’t,’ I laughed.

‘I’m serious. I was riding through the woods and I was passing Luke the huntsman’s hut. I remembered that his wife was soon to give birth. Luke was a friend of mine and I thought I’d just check to see how they were. I knocked but the door wasn’t locked so I went inside.’

‘When Luke’s wife hit you over the head with a pan for breaking into her house,’ laughed Marcus.

‘No,’ he said with absolute seriousness. ‘The hut had one room and there was a bed at the back. Luke wasn’t there but his wife was asleep in her bed, and there was a woman wearing a cloak and hood standing next to the bed whispering something.’

‘How did you know it was a woman when she had a cloak and hood?’ asked Sir Gad de Trafford.

‘Something about the way she was whispering, the tone of her voice. I was shocked so I demanded to know who she was. The woman looked at me and her face, I swear I have never seen a face so fair in all my days. She looked to be just as shocked to see me as I was to see her. She ran past me, throwing me out of the way and then disappeared into the woods.’

‘And then you woke up in the tavern,’ Marcus finished the tale.

‘Aye, I checked that Matilda, Luke’s wife, was alright, when Luke returned I left, went to the tavern. I needed a stiff drink.’

‘Or ten,’ I reminded him. ‘I had to carry you back to the castle.’

‘Call it a figment of the drinks if you wish,’ he told us, ‘but I swear to the day I die that I am a did see the witch.’

‘Whatever you say cousin,’ I laughed and stood up, needing t stretch my legs, walking around our part of the encampment until I came upon our archers where Prince Legolas was talking with some of our men while he inspected one of their longbows.

‘It’s different from those of the elves,’ he told Thomas Fendrel. ‘In Mirkwood, we use our bows often at close range, so we have to make them smaller than these longbows.’

‘It’s still a bloody good weapon though,’ Thomas said as he examined the bow Legolas would usually use, slightly smaller than an English bow.

‘That was made by the elves of Loth Lorien, kin to my people. As for your longbow, it’s made of yew isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. Can’t punch through plate of course, but against mail, a longbow with a bodkin head will be like a scythe to wheat.’

‘You will be glad to know then that most Orcs you will meet usually wear leather or weak steal.’

‘Hear that lads?’ he asked his fellow bowmen. ‘We’ll have it easy for once!’

His fellow archers cheered him and laughed while Legolas took one last look at the weapon before handing it back to Thomas.

‘Against the Uruk Hai though, they are much larger and stronger than other Orcs, even stronger than many men.’

‘I know. I saw the one Sir John killed. Ugly looking beast, but I can’t wait for a chance to stick a few shafts in one of them.’

Everyone chuckled with him, especially his younger brother Mathew. I decided then to head to my tent to get some sleep and altogether I slept soundly. The next morning we packed up and some arrangements had been changed. Cerdic and Sunniva had agreed to unpack their cart so they could carry the elderly and sick in the cart. Previously they had been transported in hand pushed carts or on mules but that was difficult on their families who had to push them through. Now a dozen of them sat in the large cart while Cerdic and Sunniva’s belongings were to be transported by the families of the people in the cart. It was a good arrangement altogether, Sunniva’s idea actually.

Altogether, the journey was uneventful so I won’t go into detail describing each day. That was until the last day of the journey. It began normally, I was riding next to Sunniva, as ever she was driving her cart while I was mounted on Julius.

‘The first time Cenric was using his damn axe, he nearly brought the house down,’ she laughed.

‘Oh really?’

‘I’m serious, one minute it was fine, next thing we knew, a support beam was knocked out of place and we were literally holding it in place till we could fix it. I swear, my father nearly killed him that night.’

‘Reminds me of a time my cousins and I got in trouble when we were children. We’d gotten into the castles armoury and replaced the oils for keeping the weapons clean with water.’

Sunniva started chuckling at that and shook her head.

‘I’m going to guess your uncle wasn’t happy.’

‘He was furious, but my father thought it was funny,’ I said and then I felt the sadness which always came with the memories of my father. ‘That was only a couple of months before he died,’ I said, almost not realising I said it and instantly I wished I didn’t. ‘I’m sorry Sunniva, I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.’

‘Don’t worry John. I know what you’re feeling, I still feel sad when I think of my mother.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She gave me a gentle smile, one which I returned, when from ahead came the sounds of roaring and the clash of steal.

‘What’s happened?’ Sunniva asked while the column stopped.

‘I don’t know,’ I told her and fastened my helmet. ‘I’ll go and check.’

‘John,’ she said quickly, ‘good luck.’

‘God be with you, Sunniva.’

I galloped ahead, quickly reaching the front of the column, as were many of the others, Aragorn then emerged from a cluster of rocks ahead, sword in hand.

‘Wargs!’ he shouted. ‘We’re under attack.’

‘What are Wargs?’ my uncle asked Théoden.

‘Giant wolves,’ he answered. ‘Orcs use them as mounts.’

Many of the people in the column were screaming at the name while I drew my sword, ready for a battle.

‘All riders to the head of the column!’ the king ordered.

‘Jason!’ my uncle shouted to the mercenary.

‘Baron?’

‘Remain with the column. Same for all the mercenaries and bowmen.’

‘Our archers have already gone ahead,’ he told my uncle. ‘They followed Prince Legolas towards the enemy.’

‘For goodness sake. Alright, just stay with the column and help guard them with the mercenaries. Edmund, you stay as well.’

‘Understood milord.’

‘Everyone else! Englishmen! Prepare for battle in the name of God and Rohan!’

He drew his massive sword and held it aloft. Many of us cheered as we charged in the direction of the enemy. Richard, his barbute helmet on, and Marcus wearing a snouted bascinet helm, rode up to me and nodding in one last gesture of acknowledgement, before we galloped towards the fight. I looked over to my uncle, now wearing his ornate great helm, and then back to the column where I saw the cart and I thought I saw Sunniva waving to me, before I turned towards the battle. Over the hill we thundered, seeing our bowmen ahead of us, letting off arrow after arrow at the enemy. When I saw our foes I gasped in shock, those wolves were massive, the size of a horse and atop them were foul, twisted monsters in crude armour and with savage weapons. One of our arrows hit a Warg in the chest and with satisfaction I saw its rider being thrown through the air as its mount died.

‘For God!’ Lord Robert shouted from his horse, sword in hand. ‘For God!’

‘For God!’ I echoed, pulling down my visor.

‘For God!’ every Christian amongst us roared as we galloped straight at the enemy.

We clashed and it was the most savage fight I’d ever been in at the time. Unlike in England where knight fought knight with a level of understanding and common rules, here it was a pure life or death struggle. I sliced my sword down into the eyes of a Warg, sending the beast tumbling, its rider being launched through the air to be trampled by one of the men behind me. I clashed my sword three times against an Orc before I spotted an opening and stabbed him though the arm pit. As for its mount, the beast bit at Julius who dodged it but the creature was killed by Sir Ralph Frasier, striking true with his large mace. He let out a shout in triumph before a Warg leapt at him. The first Englishman to die in this war was killed before my eyes, the beast almost tearing him in half. In revenge I ran the Warg through its neck, slaying the monster before riding on at another beast. On the way I passed an Orc on foot and with a swift cut I sliced through the monsters neck, spraying black blood everywhere. Reeve Cerdic was close by, his sword in hand as he fought against an Orc armed with a curved blade, so I galloped towards them and ran the Orc through from behind. Cerdic then killed the Warg before nodding at me.

‘Thank you, Sir John. Now come on, we’ve got Orc’s to kill!’

The battle was short but savage, I kicked down at one Orc, sending it face first to the ground, for Julius to finish off by stamping his hoof into the monsters head and then I sliced a Warg through the throat as it jumped up at me, and then I ended up trading blows with an Orc mounted on a monster. He was a skilled opponent, blocking each blow I made, but he was felled by a bodkin arrow to the throat, our archers up on the hill nearby were still shooting at the enemy. The Warg was easily dealt with by a deep stab through the neck but before I could draw Alaric from the body, a roar resounded through the air and another beast jumped towards my horses throat.

He couldn’t react in time. The giant wolf locked its jaws around my horses neck and tore out a massive chunk of flesh. I rolled off my horse before he fell to the ground, still kicking. Pushing myself up I looked for my sword but it was still in the last beast I killed, so I drew my long knife and glared at the beast which had attacked my horse. I it looked at me and bounded forwards, only for me to drop to ground so it leapt over me, and, in a flash of movement, I sliced open its belly. The Warg skidded to a stop and whimpered before dying.

Around me I saw the battle slowing down, the last few Wargs and their riders hurrying away, being chased off by arrows, while the rest of us checked our wounded and dead. Sadly, I walked towards Julius, the poor horse, his coat the colour of the night sky, still twitching as he tried to breathe through his devastated throat.

‘I’m sorry old friend,’ I said to him and gently stroked him across his snout.

His eyes spoke of pain, begging for help. Carefully, with my knife, I aimed it and to this day, I swear Julius looked at me with a mix of acceptance and peace. I finished him off as mercifully as I could and when Julius died, I stroked him one last time before recovering my sword.

‘John,’ Richard said as he rode up to me and then he saw Julius. ‘Damn. He was a good horse.’

‘I know,’ I said, trying to hold back my vomit as I pulled Alaric from the Warg’s body, still thinking of my poor horse.

‘John, Aragorn didn’t make it.’

‘What?’ I asked, surprised as I had seen him fighting extremely well.

‘An Orc sent him over the cliff.’

‘Shit,’ I cursed.

He was a fantastic fighter, we would miss him. Of course, I did not yet know just who he was.

‘Put the wounded on horses!’ Théoden ordered us. ‘Leave the dead.’

In the battle, twenty seven of Théoden’s men had been killed, and four of our knights and a squire were dead, Sir Philip Ponsonby, Sir Roger Carey, Sir Abraham Boleyn, Sir Ralph Frasier and young Wiliam Gage, while Sir Ruben Fulford and Sir Henry Armstrong were wounded, but not seriously, only cuts which could be seen to at the castle, Sir Henry also sprained his wrist in the fight when he fell off his horse. As the wounded were being put on horseback, I heard the conversation between Théoden and my uncle.

‘I’m glad your men were here, Baron James. If not our losses would have been greater.’

‘We were glad to help and demonstrate our use for your army.’

‘You certainly impressed me, especially your bowmen.’

‘Us English are infamous for our archers,’ Thomas Fendrel said as he approached the pair of them. ‘Your Majesty, Baron, I’m sorry for not asking for orders before we went into battle, but I thought that if we could thin their ranks before you fought them hand to hand, we’d be doing a good service.’

‘And so you did,’ Théoden told the man. ‘If you hadn’t, I fear we would have lost many more men, and for that you have my thanks.’

‘I’m honoured sire,’ Thomas bowed to him.

‘Now, collect your arrows and help with the wounded.’

‘Of course, sire,’ he then bowed at the two of them before getting back to work.

It had been a hard fight, but we came out victorious, yet, in the end, this would be nothing compared to the storm which would soon break over Helm’s Deep.

**AN: So here we have our first battle scene and I hope you all enjoyed it. So, once again, have a great day and please let me know what you thought of this one. Till next time.**


	6. Chapter Six The Clouds Gather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reaching Helm's Deep, the members of the English Company prepare themselves for the storm of Isengard...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Six

The Gathering Clouds

When we reached Helm’s Deep, I was impressed by the fortress. Nestled in an inlet in a sheer cliff face and before it nothing but open ground, it was a strong defensive position. The main features were a keep, the Hornburg, and the Deeping Wall. However, while it was a proud, ancient fortress, it clearly had not been improved over the years. We rode up the causeway and through the gates to find the castle packed with refugees from across Rohan and I was glad to see that the people of Edoras and the men at arms my uncle left with the column were there safely. Jason had ordered our men onto the walls already. I dismounted the horse I was sharing with Richard and had someone take the mount to the stables while I took a moment to think about what had happened. I was alive and uninjured, but I was still sad over the loss of Julius.

‘Father!’ I heard a familiar voice and I looked over to see Sunniva, followed by her brother, hurrying towards Cerdic who gladly embraced them.

Of course I was glad to see their family reunited and, deciding that they needed some space so I began to walk away from the heart of the keep where we were but only moments after their reunion, Sunniva walked over towards me.

‘I’m glad to see you’re alright John,’ she said and smiled. ‘I was worried you wouldn’t make it.’

‘We pulled through, just.’

‘I’m glad you did John. You lost a few on the way. I’m sorry.’

‘They’re with God now, I’m sure of it, but they’ll be missed in the fight to come.’

‘I see. Still, I’m glad you survived. I heard that the Lord Aragorn didn’t.’

‘That’s right.’

‘John!’ my uncle shouted over to me from a statue of warrior wielding a hammer, who I later learned was King Helm Hammerhand. ‘Get over here.’

I walked with my uncle, my cousins and Robert, Edmund and Jason along the top of the battlements overlooking the causeway. Father Harold, who had some training as a healer, was helping to the tend to the wounded in the castle.

‘We have a problem here,’ my uncle said. ‘We were told this was a great fortress, but where’s the drawbridge? Where’s the machicolations? There’s not even a bloody moat.’

‘I understand that Rohan’s favoured form of warfare is focused on their cavalry, not on siegecraft,’ Marcus said with some concern.

‘I’ve seen worse castles in my time,’ said Jason. ‘I’ve never seen walls so strong in years, and that causeway is narrow enough to cause trouble for an attacker.’

‘Still, when Isengard comes, we’ll have to be ready. Honestly, a drawbridge right here would make this place unassailable,’ my uncle reminded us as he came to a position over the gates where wooden hoardings stretched out over the causeway. ‘I’ll advise the king to position cauldrons of boiling water and hot sand here. That should chase off the attackers for a while.’

‘It will do,’ agreed Robert. ‘Still, I don’t like our odds in a full battle.’

‘Why not?’ asked Edmund.

‘We have about four hundred men, including us and if we press into service every man and boy who can wield a weapon, but that still won’t be enough to fully man the keep and the Deeping Wall.’

‘So far Saruman’s attacks have been restricted to raiding,’ Edmund responded. ‘We don’t have anything to say that they’re capable of attacking a fortress like this.’

‘They have a wizard leading them,’ I reminded Edmund. ‘If he’s anything like Gandalf, then we’ll be in trouble.’

‘We should prepare for the worst and assume they’ll be able to attack the fort,’ Robert said in my support.

‘Then are we agreed?’ my uncle asked us, and we all nodded. ‘Good. I’ll speak with the king. He’s given our company a room to store our weapons and armour so I suggest you see to them.’

As was promised, the armour and additional weapons of ours were being kept in a medium sized chamber inside the keep, carved into the side of the cliff face. I soon found my belongings, my spare clothes, armour and my poleaxe. I picked it up and made a practice swing, feeling a little out of practice with my primary weapon. Its shaft came up to my shoulder and its head was made up of an axe side with a hammer on its other side and a spear like head at the top. At the base of the shaft was also a spiked end in case the weapon broke and I could still have a weapon. It was a deadly weapon for certain, and I’d soon put it to good use. About a quarter of us were in there, and deciding there wasn’t an immediate risk of attack, I removed my mail and gambeson, adding them to my equipment. While there I picked up my gauntlet, the armoured gloves to protect my hands, and studied the intricate copper decoration around the edges and on the hinges, and my mind went to my father. In his will he left all his money to my mother aside from a good chunk of it which was to pay my armour. It was his last gift to me. My uncle offered to buy me a suit of armour himself, but I refused, using my father’s gift so my uncle would be able to spend more on my cousins armour.

Richard was leaving his own supplies here as well and when he was done I walked with him through the keep. It was a fine fortress indeed.

‘How many Orcs did you get in the fight?’ he asked me.

‘Seven or eight, and about four Wargs.’

‘I got nine Orcs and five Wargs. I win.’

‘I suppose you did. Still, those things weren’t as large as the Uruk I killed.’

‘So whatever comes next will be a harder battle?’

‘Probably.’

We exited the hall and went down the stone steps towards the statue. There, sitting on a step and sharpening his axe with a stone, we found Gimli the Dwarf.

‘Hello Gimli,’ I said to him.

‘Ah, good to see you two. Please join me. We haven’t had a chance to properly talk.’

‘I suppose we haven’t,’ agreed Richard as he sat next to the Dwarf. ‘Odd, considering how well you know our grandfather.’

‘Aye, I consider him a close friend. I knew who your father was as soon as I saw him, he looks just like his father.’

‘Does he?’

‘Aye. Your grandfather, he’s the Master of Erebor’s armoury. Supervises every weapon we forge there. If he knew you were coming, he would have ordered the building of a suit of Dwarven plate for each of you. It’s rare to find finer armour that exists in all of Middle Earth.’

‘When this is over, I can’t wait to meet him,’ I told the Dwarf.

‘He’ll be waiting for your uncle, John. He’ll be waiting with baited breath. When he was a young man he was near untouchable in battle you know. He’d give anything to fight with you. He’s old now, but there’s still fire in his heart.’

‘And what about you? How are you feeling? I know you counted Lord Aragorn among your friends,’ I said to him.

‘He was one of the last hopes in the world,’ the Dwarf told us. ‘He was the heir to the throne of Gondor.’

‘What?’ I asked him. ‘Aragorn was a prince?’

‘No. His line of the royal family hasn’t had the throne in many years. For a long time, Gondor’s been ruled by the Stewards of the Throne, and now it looks like it will be forever.’

‘Why is reality never as good as the stories?’ asked Richard. ‘He could have been another Oswald, returning from exile to claim his families throne.’

‘Oswald was a saint though,’ I reminded him. ‘If he’s gone, we have to do our best with what we have.’

‘Who was Oswald?’ asked Gimli.

‘He was the son of a king centuries ago,’ I explained. ‘His father was killed in battle so Oswald, his mother and his brother Oswiu fled their homeland to Iona, a monastery. Years later, Edwin, the man who killed his father, was killed in battle himself, so Oswald returned to Northumbria and won his families crown back.’

‘A fine tale,’ Gimli described it. ‘It’s one I wish would happen here.’

‘You left out that Oswald was killed in battle only eight years after becoming king,’ Father Harold said as he walked by, still leaning on his cane. ‘Oswiu was the better king, ruling for nearly thirty years before dying in his bed.’

‘I suppose so Father,’ Richard agreed. ‘But Oswald is a better story.’

‘The tragedy of history.’

The old priest was wearing a white apron over his black vestments, now stained with blood.

‘How are the wounded?’ I asked him.

‘About half of them have died, a few are walking now, the others will recover with enough bed rest.’

‘Could have been worse,’ Richard commented grimly.

…

That afternoon, after eating, Richard, Marcus and myself, stood on the walls, talking while we waited for anything which broke the pattern of just waiting. The space of ground behind the Deeping Wall, which had earlier been used as a camp, had been cleared of the tents of belongings of the people who had in turn moved into the caves behind the keep. We were preparing for the battle to come; we just didn’t know at the time how close it was. We looked down to the ground behind the Deeping Wall where Jason and some of his toughest friends were training up the men and older boys who were judged as suitable for a battle, his rough voice keeping them in order while reprimanding someone.

_‘Hold that spear straight or it’s going up your rear end!’_

‘So was her soup really that bad?’ I asked Marcus.

‘Apparently. Aragorn claimed he’s not eaten anything worse in years.’

‘Wow,’ Richard deadpanned. ‘I’m glad I stuck to bread and jerky.’

The three of us chuckled.

‘Do you remember that time we had a feast and the cook got drunk?’ I asked them and they all started laughing.

‘And he chucked all the salt onto the pheasant!’ shouted Richard and he boomed with laughter.

‘Still probably better than the soup,’ whispered Marcus and we all laughed, all knowing about the trouble we’d be in for mocking Lady Eowyn’s cooking if we were caught.

Over Richard’s shoulder, just coming onto the walls, I saw Reeve Cerdic coming towards us. I nodded my head in his direction and my cousins saw him as well, stopped their laughter and stood to let him pass.

‘How are you three?’ he asked us.

‘Just waiting,’ Marcus answered him.

‘Aren’t we all? Sir John, may I speak with you?’

‘Of course sir,’ I answered him and left my cousins where they were while I and the Reeve went to a position further along the wall.

‘This is a fine fortress,’ Cerdic said as he looked over the flat land before us. ‘It has never fallen; no enemy of Rohan has ever set foot here.’

‘It’s comforting to know that.’

‘It is. Still, I don’t want to die here, not yet anyway. I don’t want to die and leave my children alone in the world.’

‘I understand. When I lost my father, if it wasn’t for my mother, I wouldn’t have been able to cope.’

‘How did he die? Your father?’

‘He was killed in battle.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Sir John. Still, there’s something I wanted to ask you. It’s about my daughter.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘I don’t think so, or at least I hope not. You and her spent a lot of time talking on the way here, and when we got here after the battle, she went to see you immediately after me. I’m not questioning your honour, Sir John, but I have to ask if you an her behaved appropriately.’

I was taken aback by his questioning but I kept myself composed.

‘I give you my word, I never did anything to Sunniva.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Still, I wouldn’t be a good father if I didn’t ask.’

‘True, I suppose.’

‘I understand you’re in need of a squire to help you get ready when the battle begins.’

‘That’s true sir.’

‘You don’t need to call me that. I’m not a proper nobleman. Anyway, I was going to offer you Cenric as a squire. He’s a capable lad, and I think he’ll do well in the role.’

‘I’d be glad to have him with me in the fight, and armour is a pain to put on without help. I’ll take the lad.’

‘Thank you,’ he said before looking ahead. ‘Who’s that?’

I followed his gaze and saw a lone rider galloping towards the causeway.

‘A straggler maybe,’ I suggested.

As he came closer and closer though I recognized him and I smiled.

‘He’s back,’ I said. ‘It’s Lord Aragorn.’

…

As soon as he arrived back, Aragorn made his way towards the hall where my uncle and our other leaders were discussing what to do in the event of an attack. I and my cousins did not follow him, but from the research I have done over the years, the following is what happened.

‘Given our low number’s I’d advise not bothering with the Deeping Wall,’ my uncle pragmatically told them, much to the annoyance of the men of Rohan.

‘The Deeping Wall has never been breached or taken by a foe,’ said Gamling. ‘We can’t let it fall.’

‘I’m just stating the facts. If we had another hundred men or so we might but under a direct assault at the moment we’d be driven off the wall and into the Hornburg.’

‘I doubt there is much chance of a direct attack,’ the king spoke up. ‘All his attacks have been raids, we don’t know what his true strength is.’

It was then that the doors were thrown open and Aragorn, followed by Legolas and Gimli, marched into the hall. Everyone was shocked at his return and his dishevelled appearance, yet many were also relieved.

‘Théoden King, I know you must all be surprised that I’ve returned, but we have no time for a welcoming. Saruman’s army is already on its way here, and it’s stronger than we expected.’

‘How so?’ asked Lord Robert.

‘It’s more than just groups of bandits, I saw his full strength. They are clad in plate and armed with pikes and swords. I didn’t see a horde of Orcs, but a strong army of Uruk-Hai. Some were carrying siege ladders as well and what could only be weapons for a siege in carts.’

‘How large is their force?’ Théoden asked him, dreading his response.

‘Ten thousand strong at least.’

‘Ten thousand?’ Theoden gasped.

‘It’s an army built for one purpose, to destroy the world of men.’

‘How much time do we have?’ asked my uncle.

‘They’ll be here by nightfall.’

All eyes turned to the King of Rohan, this was his keep, his kingdom.

‘Let them come,’ he declared. ‘Baron, you will supervise the preparations for our defensive engines. Take twenty men and dig up as much sand as you need for your plan. I’ll have fires made ready for you.’

That was the situation which led to final preparations for the battle. The king ordered that every man and boy from twelve to sixty was to report to the armoury to be issued arms and armour, anyone older than that who could still fight was also summoned. I and the rest of the English stood in our own armoury as the squires assisted us knights in getting ready. The archers also assisted and Théoden had allowed many boys to become temporary squires in assisting us. I looked over to Jason, clad in a brown leather brigandine dotted with studs over a long shirt of mail as well as a gorget, pauldrons, leather gloves, greaves and on his head a kettle helmet. The Fendrel brothers were also in brigandine’s, but with no plate, but each of them wore a bascinet helm with no visor. That was the case for most of our bowmen.

My uncle nearby wore an ornate suit of armour, fitted to him perfectly, leaving him without an inch exposed. The edges of each plate were decorated with brass in the pattern of tiny crosses linked together. His helmet, which at the time he held under his arm, was a great helm which, though an older style, he preferred over modern helmets. The narrow eye slits were a part of a grand cruciform design of gold spanning the front of his helmet from the top to the bottom, the eyes a part of the arms of the cross. The main decoration on his armour though was our families coat of arms carved onto his breast plate, a cross on a leaf shaped field.

The plate of my two cousins was in the style favoured by Italian armour smiths, without much decoration on the plates, but both wore a tabard displaying the families heraldry. Their helmets were different though, Marcus’s was a snout faced bascinet while Richard’s was a barbute, a helmet with a T shaped space for the eyes and mouth, and a visor in the shape of a lions jaws covering the lower half of his face.

My plate was the style favoured by German smiths, with decoration along the edges of each plate in copper, like my uncles, and with Cenric’s help each piece was fitted into place. Instead of my mail shirt beneath the plate I wore my other gambeson with mail sown onto it under the arms. Piece by piece, I was encased in steel as Cenric locked each piece onto my body. As I mentioned earlier, my helmet was a sallet, but in addition to it my head was also protected by an articulated bevor, with several parts which could be moved up or down to reveal or cover my mouth in case I needed to speak or fight. My helmet also has a visor so I could have a face to face conversation while wearing my armour. The last to go on were my gauntlets and tabard, in the Harris colours, I was ready to go into battle. With my visor up and bevor lowered I turned to Cenric who had already started to get into his own armour. One of the members of the Royal Guard who had been wounded in the earlier fight had leant Cenric his scale armour, as they were close in build, and it fit the lad well.

‘Need a hand?’ I asked.

‘Please,’ he said, and I helped him get ready for the battle himself.

Rohan’s armour was not as good as what was common in England, with the exception of the royal families own, which was unfortunate considering the circumstances. I got a look at the men who had been drafted into the castles defenders, they were old men whose fingers were so stiff with age that they could barely grasp their spears and young boys on whom their armour was too heavy for them. Still, they were all we had; our only hope was that Gandalf would arrive in time to save us with Prince Eomer.

‘There we are,’ I said as Cenric put on his helmet. ‘Are you ready for this?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘You’ve had training, just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.’

‘Thanks,’ he said with a nervous smile I recognised as that on every young man before their first battle.

He then slung a round shield across the back and took hold of his long axe. For weapons he had his axe in hand with a sword at his waist while I had my poleaxe and Alaric, as well as a dagger. Looking around the room it was apparent that we were the best armed group of defenders in the castle. I spotted Edmund at the other side of the room in his armour which was comically ornate, covered in carvings of hunting scenes and he wore a crimson cloak over his armour, while he was armed with a hammer. He was just one example of how well equipped we were for this battle.

‘Do you have any advice, Sir John?’

‘Yes. It’s not the enemy directly in front of you that you have to worry about. It’s the enemy to your front but on the left and right. They are the dangerous ones. I’ve seen plenty of men cut down by someone they weren’t paying attention to.’

‘Alright, I’ll remember that.’

The door to our armoury opened and Father Harold walked in, not wearing his usual black vestments but clad in more ornate garments suitable for mass rather than the travelling we had been doing over the past week or so. He had no armour of his own so he had been offered a shirt of maille but wearing it with his still hurting ankle was too much and he was unable to fight, instead opting to wear his best in the event of dying.

‘My friends,’ he said and everyone in there was silenced. ‘Before you go out there, I was hoping that I could lead a prayer for you.’

‘I think that’s a fine idea,’ my uncle said and stepped towards the priest before kneeling, as did all of us while the Rohirrim amongst us backed off to the side of the room, not sure what we were doing.

He held his hands together and in a voice of incredible strength yet kindness, he began to speak to us.

‘Father, what has brought us to this land is yours alone to know, and we go to battle this night in your Holy name. We have sinned, we have done wrong, but show us mercy this night and inspire us to carry forward to victory. Grant us our hearts desires. Make our plans succeed. We shall raise high a banner of victory when the sun rises in the morning and those ten thousand monsters lie slain before the walls of Helm’s Deep. Be with us on this darkest of nights. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ we echoed and stood up, taking one last look at each other before marching out.

When we stepped into the cool night air we saw hundreds of men and boys hurrying about, carrying bundles of arrows and baskets of rocks to the battlements of the Hornburg while others were taking a last few moments to themselves before going to war. Our unusually high quality of armour got the attention of many of our soon to be brothers in arms, mostly they pointed at us and a couple jokingly asked if we could swap equipment.

‘Thomas,’ my uncle ordered him. ‘Take your bowmen to the outer wall.’

‘Understood Baron,’ he answered and began to quickly jog towards the said wall, his brother and the other archers following him.

My uncle then turned to the rest of us and was about to relay the kings orders when a horn blew and I gasped, thinking that the enemy were here. I gripped my poleaxe tighter, ready for it. The horn blew again from the outer wall I heard a shout.

‘Open the gate!’

‘What?’ I, and many others, asked, shocked at what we were hearing.

The sounds of disciplined, armoured boots marching in perfect order echoed up from the gates and up the path until, at last, before us emerged not Orcs, but Elves. Clad in beautiful, ornate armour covered by grey cloaks and wielding bows of a level of beauty I had never imagined. If I hadn’t of known better, I would have assumed that God had answered Father Harold’s prayer directly, sending us an army of angels. Every single one of us was stunned, seeing so many coming to our aid.

Théoden had emerged from the hall of the castle, clearly amazed at what he had seen before him.

‘How is this possible?’ the King of Rohan asked.

One of the elves, a tall figure with long silver hair, stepped forward and bowed to the King of Rohan.

‘I bring word from Lord Elrond of Rivendell and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Thousands of years ago we stood together against the forces of Sauron. Long ago we fought and died together. We have come to honour that allegiance.’

Aragorn and Legolas then emerged from the hall and he at once embraced the Elf, whose name I would later learn as Haldir, speaking to him in their celestial, beautiful tongue.

‘You are most welcome this night,’ he then said to him.

Haldir in turn looked to Theoden and declared.

‘We are proud to fight alongside men one more.’

‘And by standing together this fortress shall never fall,’ Théoden proclaimed.

‘John,’ Richard whispered to me. ‘I think we’re in a legend now.’

So we were. Those days of war are now remembered as legendary, and those left alive from those times treated with an incredible amount of respect. Yet the fight to come would not be one of a legend, but of a nightmare.

**AN: So, the Battle of Helm’s Deep is soon to begin. I hope you all liked this chapter and while it is basically a breather before the battle, I felt that it was important for the characters to have that breather. So, I hope you all enjoyed it and let me know what you thought of it. Have a great day!**

**Review Response Time:**

**TimC: Thanks mate, hope you enjoy this one.**

**ATP: This fic is mostly following the movie timeline where Gondor does have plate armour. Also, I’m following the idea that Arda is a separate world from ours dealing with the theology issue. Thanks for your review!**


	7. Chapter Seven: The Storm Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All preparations have been made and as night falls on Helm's Deep, one of the greatest battles of all time is about to begin.

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Seven

The Storm Breaks

The Battle of Helm’s Deep, or as the people of Rohan remember it, the Battle of the Hornburg, was one of the greatest battles of the War of the Ring. Never in Rohan’s history had there been a night so dark or a dawn so glorious.

The defenders were positioned thusly, the Elves, along with Aragorn and Gimili, took over the defence of the Deeping Wall, half of them on the wall itself and the other half behind it as a reserve force. The Men of Rohan and England were positioned in the Hornburg, with our archers on the outer wall, alongside my uncle who had been given command of the archers, both of Rohan and England. The rest of the English company stood inside the gatehouse, right in front of the gates, ready to receive the enemy if they attacked with a ram. That is where I and my cousins stood. Robert was at the rear of the gatehouse, in command of us. I looked over my shoulder to see rank upon rank of men clad in plate, faceless warriors in helmets gripping their polearms, axes, maces, hammers and swords. Our squires stood towards the back of the gatehouse since they were less experienced than us so it only made sense to keep them out of the way. All of us knew that if the gate was breached, we’d be in the thick of the fighting.

‘Anyone scared?’ Jason asked after the thunder roared and the rain started to fall, though we were dry in the gate house.

‘No,’ Lord Robert answered, in a tone stating he wanted silence.

‘To be honest, I’m ready to shit myself.’

At that we all let out a round of nervous laughter.

‘You should go on the wall then,’ Richard shouted. ‘When the Uruk-Hai come up the ladders you can give them a surprise.’

Jason let out a booming laugh at that, as did all of us, trying to hide our fear of the coming army. We could hear them marching forwards, step by step.

‘It’s appropriate,’ he then announced. ‘It’s already raining, why shouldn’t they have something else dropping on them?’

We all laughed again, but it soon died down as the sound of the enemies marching stopped and silenced reigned control for a few moments. It didn’t last long and soon a steady, crashing sound filled the air, the Uruk-Hai had begun to beat their weapons into the ground. The steady drum beat making our hearts hammer faster and faster while we waited for them to make the first move.

Up above us, my uncle stood on the outer wall next to Thomas Fendrel, both of them looking at the horde approaching. Ten thousand Uruk-Hai, it was not a pleasant image. My uncle wouldn’t admit it at the time, but he was scared, there was no doubt about it. After going into battle enough times, being scared turned into a gnawing sense of dread at the back of the mind. Pushing up his visor he looked at the massive formation and thought about how strange this was. He had fought in larger battles before, at Castillon when so many had been shredded by French cannons he had survived, though he was captured, and my father had to pay his ransom. Each side numbered around ten thousand that day. He’d also faced ten thousand Lancastrians at Blore Heath and came out victorious. This however, this was the day where the odds had never been so highly stacked against him.

‘Will they just get on with it?’ asked Mathew, Thomas’s brother.

‘Steady boy,’ my uncle told the young man. ‘They’re just trying to scare you,’ he then looked over to the king standing on the inner wall who nodded while Aragorn was shouting orders in Elvish. ‘Bowmen! Nock!’

At his command out archers on the outer wall fitted their arrows onto their bow strings.

‘Draw!’

‘Loose!’

The arrows flew through the air, every archer shot their arrows at the Uruk horde ahead and their chanting ended, replaced by some thumping as beasts from their front line fell dead. They were silenced for a few precious moments before they began roaring and hollering at us, hungry for slaughter.

‘Nock! Draw! Loose!’

As the arrows flew again, the Uruk’s charged forwards ready to kill.

The Battle of Helm’s Deep began.

…

In the caves behind the castle, everywhere there sat huddled together frightened women and children, together in family groups and waiting. The sounds from outside could be heard, though muffled, and it was clear the battle had begun. Father Harold however was at peace, in quiet prayer. He had found a small cluster of rocks against the cave wall where he had placed his cross and several candles. He knelt before the cross and was praying for help, for victory. Though his eyes were closed he knew that there were people looking at him, wondering what he was doing. This act, so common in England, was so foreign in this strange land.

Eventually he heard movement, someone with soft steps coming towards him. At last he opened his eyes and turned his head to see Sunniva cautiously approaching him.

‘Can I help you, my child?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ she whispered. ‘I was just curious about what you were doing.’

‘Praying.’

‘I thought so.’

‘Don’t you pray in Rohan?’

‘We don’t really. We honour those who came before us and call on Béma when we must.’

‘I pray, however. I pray that those men out there will win, that our lives will be spared and few of them will die. Pray with me if you wish.’

‘I’m sorry Harold, but I don’t know what you pray for or even what to say.’

He smiled at her.

‘Over the years I’ve come to believe that the words you think of while praying are even more powerful than any written down. If you want to pray with me, just kneel, close your eyes, and think of what you want to say to Him.’

‘Him?’

‘To God. Just ask and one day your prayers may be answered. Your father and your brother are out there right now, fighting to protect us all. If anyone deserves a prayer, it’s them.’

Sunniva looked at a few of the other people in the cave, most of them not caring but a few looking at them questioningly. Deciding to step forward, Sunniva knelt next to Father Harold and copied his hand gesture and closed her eyes.

…

Outside, standing in the gatehouse, I was growing restless. We could hear the fighting coming from the Deeping Wall, and as any soldier will tell you, there are few things worse than someone else fighting while you cannot help them.

‘What are they waiting for?’ growled Jason. ‘My billhook’s hungry for Uruk flesh.’

‘Calm down Jason,’ Robert told him. ‘Can’t you hear it?’

‘Hear what?’

‘Shut up and you will.’

I heard it then as well, marching, coming closer and closer, the flagstones beneath my feet vibrating, more and more. My suspicion was confirmed when a young Rohirrim shouted down a message to us.

‘Uruk’s coming up the causeway!’

‘Do they have a ram?’ asked Robert.

‘We can’t tell, they’ve got their shields raised and they’re packed together so we can’t see them properly. Our archers can’t touch them.’

‘The ram must be hidden in there,’ said Marcus.

‘Prepare yourselves!’ shouted Robert. ‘Jason’s bill is going to be well fed soon!’

‘Almost feel sorry for them, with my fathers surprise,’ Richard said to me while I shifted my bevor, protecting my lower face, and then shut my helmet’s visor.

The blast then struck. The entire castle shook and the sound of the explosion was almost deafening.

‘God’s teeth what was that?’ I asked.

‘Sounded like a cannon,’ said Marcus and, though I couldn’t see his face through his helmet, I could tell he was now nervous. ‘Damn.’

‘It’s too close and too loud to be a cannon,’ Jason told us.

‘The Deeping Wall’s been destroyed!’ shouted someone from above. ‘The wizards powers have struck us here!’

‘Brace the gates!’ Théoden then shouted to us.

In turn, we threw ourselves against the gate a second before it was struck.

Above us, on the outer wall, my uncle was still stunned by what had just happened. In moments the Deeping Wall had been shattered and the Uruk-Hai were rushing in, thousands of those beasts attacking the Elves. Still, he was soon brought back to the situation, the Uruk’s were using their ram at the gates. It was time.

‘Mathew,’ he said to the archer, ‘send word to the Hall. It’s time for our surprise.’

‘Yes Baron.’

He then hurried off to deliver the message.

‘The rest of you, keep shooting and chucking rocks! Move it!’

He then grabbed a rock from the basket near him and threw it down at an Uruk, striking it on the head and knocking it to the ground. Thomas shot at the enemy three more times, two of them killed Uruk-Hai and the third struck one on the breast plate doing no damage.

‘Damn.’

‘Keep shooting.’

Not long after that Mathew returned, two young men following him, carrying a large cauldron on wooden poles. Though it had stopped raining, the occasional spit of rain fell from the sky causing the cauldron to sizzle. The brought it to the wooden hoarding overlooking the great and my uncle grinned.

‘Are you ready boys?’ he asked them, chuckling.

‘We are sir,’ one of the men carrying the cauldron said as they removed the lid, revealing the scorching hot sand within.

‘Wait for my order and then pour.’

He looked down through the hoarding and waited until the Uruk’s were about to strike the gate again.

‘Now.’

The two men poured out the stream of hot sand down onto the Uruk’s below. For a moment there was nothing but then came the screaming as the beasts were scalded by the sand. They even dropped the ram as they tried to run away from the gate, fighting their way past their own comrades to escape and get help.

‘Well done lads!’ my uncle shouted and laughed, a few of the others doing the same, but a series of crossbow bolts striking the hoarding forced them to back off. ‘Those beasts stink, don’t they? I think they need a bath. Bring up the boiling water.’

One of our archers, William of Sandwich, peered through the hoarding and shot another arrow at the enemy but then a bolt from a crossbow struck him through the eye. He fell backwards, dead by the time he hit the ground.

‘Damn,’ gasped Mathew, looking at his friend, dead on the stone floor.

‘Get the water,’ Thomas told his brother. ‘Now.’

Mathew hurried away to do it, his brother looking at him sadly before turning back to fitting another arrow and getting ready to shoot.

‘For God!’ he roared and let loose the arrow.

The boiling water arrived just in time as the Uruk-Hai began their next ram attack, and the water was poured down on them, dousing a large group of the beasts with steaming water, scalding them and sending them running back again.

‘Well done,’ my uncle said again but before the hoarding was closed a volley of bolts tore through, killing one of the men who had been carrying the water. ‘They’ve positioned bowmen under us,’ he said and growled in annoyance. ‘Alright, bring up more water.’

‘They’ll shoot us if we open the hoarding again,’ said a Rohan boy of about twelve close by.

‘And if we don’t stop those Uruk-Hai they’ll break down the gates and murder you and your mother. Now do as I say!’

They hurried off to get another cauldron, taking the emptied one with them. My uncle then walked around the battlements, looking down to the Deeping Wall where he saw the Elves and Uruk-Hai fighting in a battle of elegance and skill against savagery and blood lust. The action was taking place in the breach made by the explosion. My uncle wasn’t sure if the blast was a device of black powder or magic but its effect was terrible, in a singe second ruining their plans for a defence. The Elves were clearly fighting with all the skill their centuries of training and experience granted them but there were so many Uruk-Hai. They wouldn’t be able to last much longer. He was about to suggest they withdraw to the Hornburg when Gamling gave that exact order.

‘Aragorn! Pull back to the Keep. Get your men out of there!’

The retreat soon saw the Elves fighting off the Uruk-Hai while they fought their way back to the Hornburg. However, for us, the fight was about to come much closer.

In the gatehouse, we remained pressed against the gates while the Uruk-Hai, under the protection of their crossbows, hammered away at us. Those at the front were myself and my cousins, Jason and Sir’s Henry Cannaguy and John Stanley. Edmund and the three de Trafford brothers, Gad, Daniel and Edward, were behind us.

The ram struck the gate again, splintering some of the wood in a couple of places.

‘They’re almost through!’ Marcus shouted.

‘Prepare yourselves!’ Jason boomed and the next blow opened the gate and half a dozen Uruk crossbowmen aimed a volley straight at us.

Then a cauldron of scorching water was thrown down onto them, making them roar in pain, launching their bolts wildly.

‘Get them!’ Jason ordered and thrust the spear tip of the billhook into the neck of an Uruk.

The fighting was bloody and chaotic. I swung my poleaxe down and cut into the beasts neck, black blood spraying everywhere as it staggered away to die. It was at once replaced by another who swung its sword at my check and it hit my armour, tearing my tabard but not hurting me. I aimed a punch at the beasts jaw, breaking a few teeth only for Richard to finish him off with a mace to the neck. I held my weapon aloft with the spear tip forward and stabbed and jabbed at any Uruk who tried to get past me. Jason pulled the hooked part of his weapon across the throat of one beast, spilling blood everywhere and then I slammed the hammer part of my weapon into the shoulder of an Uruk. Even as we fought as hard as we could we were forced away from the gates themselves by the enemies numbers and ferocity, only a few feet but a number of them were through and were hacking into us. I saw Sir Godfrey Gage with his long-shafted mace fall dead, the spiked end of an Uruk sword cutting through the mail beneath his arm while another hacked into his neck. Immediately afterwards Sir Valentine Poitier killed one of the beasts with his poleaxe only to be grabbed by the neck and pulled into the enemies ranks. His screams filled the air and then a crunching sound announced his death.

‘First rank retire!’ shouted Robert who was in a commanding position at the back.

I and my compatriots stepped back and allowed Edmund and the three brothers to the front, all of them armed with hammers and small shields. As Edmund came forward he banged his hammer against the shield three times and let out a dreadful roar as he got to work. With black blood spraying everywhere they bludgeoned the beasts back out of the gate and onto the causeway itself. I followed and now we were fighting outside, for a moment I thought we would be able to drive them all the way back down the causeway. Ahead of us, Gad de Trafford, like me clad in a sallet but without a bevor, turned and held his hammer in the air.

‘We’ll chase the bastards all the way to Isengard!’ he declared.

That was when a volley of crossbow bolts struck us, mostly bouncing off our plate but, with a gasp, a single cursed bolt struck Gad through the chin.

‘Gad!’ his youngest brother, Edward, shouted and rushed to him but the unfortunate hero, gasping for breath through his wrecked throat, staggered to the side and fell from the causeway into the mass of Uruk’s below.

‘Back inside!’ Edmund ordered and we all did as commanded and retreated back into the gate, he was the last back in, blocking two crossbow bolts with his shield before we were in again.

We slammed the gates shut and we would have tried to barricade it if not for the next Uruk attack. They threw themselves onto our weapons and we fought just as hard against them. Many of our men fell dead in that horrid fighting, blood both black and red mixing on the stone floor. The fighting was too tight for my poleaxe so I passed it back through the ranks, drawing my sword and letting Alaric spill Uruk blood. I stabbed one through the arm pit and another I sliced through its leg. One I kicked at, breaking its knee before thrusting my sword through its throat and then jabbed the cross guard into the eye of another. It was a chaotic, hand to hand, brutal fight without any concept of quarter or mercy.

Then the momentum of the attack stopped. Richard killed the last beast and through the breach we saw something none of us expected. Aragorn and Gimli, later I learned they got there by a postern gate, and they were making mincemeat of the monsters racing up the causeway.

‘Shore up the door!’ the king ordered, and men appeared with wood and nails, quickly starting to repair the damage. 

As they did so most of the English company moved out of the way and I opened my visor and lowered my bevor, happy to finally get a breath of fresh air.

‘Are you alright?’ Richard asked me, removing his helmet.

‘I’m not hurt.’

‘You’ve still got an arrow sticking out of you.’

I looked down and saw the broken shaft and head of a bolt stuck in my armour.

‘Can you pull it out?’

‘I’ll try.’

He gripped it and after two tugs yanked it out, leaving a small hole in my armour but nothing too bad. A good smith should be able to repair it.

‘Do you think we’ll have a break in the attack now?’ he asked, clearly, he was exhausted, sweat coating his face and hair.

‘I hope so. It depends on how long the gate holds. And poor Aragorn and Gimli. They’re stuck out there.’

‘They knew what they were getting into.’

‘Help!’ someone shouted and we looked up to the inside of the outer wall where a fight had broken out.

‘Don’t’ tell me they have ladders that long!’ I shouted.

Robert looked and saw it as well, looking at us and all the other men in our company and gave the order.

‘Half the men up top! Come on!’

Cenric was soon by me and passed me my poleaxe before we started running up top. My cousins and I followed Robert, running up the steps towards the keep, past the statue of King Helm and then over the narrow stone bridge to the outer wall where massive ladders were letting Uruk-Hai by the score onto the walls. Standing in front of one ladder was my uncle and Reeve Cerdic, the former cleaving through the beasts with his claymore and the other thrusting and slashing with his own blade.

‘Father!’ Cenric shouted and ran to help the two older men with his long axe, thrusting at one Uruk as it climbed off the ladder, battering it backwards and into a long fall.

We filled out onto the outer wall, fighting as hard as we could to drive them off. Englishmen, Rohirrim and Elves fighting for our lives against the most savage enemy this land had seen so far in its history. Our archers were running away from the outer wall, a few such as Oswald and Thomas letting off a last few arrows before running back themselves, letting us deal with the enemy had to hand. Soon I was using my poleaxe to great effect, standing in front of a ladder and using the hammer on the hands of the Uruk’s as they climbed up, forcing many to lose their hold before falling to their deaths below. Close by I saw Legolas with a rope, hauling something up, and it was soon revealed to be Aragorn and Gimli. Glad that they were safe, I kept at my work. One Uruk thrust at me with its sword but I stepped back to avoid it, allowing it to jump onto the wall. However, it didn’t go one pace before a large man stepped in with a two handed hammer and smashed it in the chin, sending it to the ground and I finished it off with a stab. Looking up I realised this man was Wemba, Cerdic’s smith.

‘Thank you, friend.’

‘Don’t talk, just fight!’

He then joined me in our defence but in many places the Uruk’s had clambered over the walls and were fighting us in a confused brawl across the battlements.

‘Pull back! Fall back!’ I heard Gamling roar.

‘You heard him!’ I shouted at Wemba and shoved him along, urging him to get back to the keep.

I swung my poleaxe as hard as I could at an Uruk, whacking him with the blunt head of the weapon, sending its helmet flying off, blood and bone following it. My uncle with Cerdic and Cenric were also pulling back, rushing across the stone bridge. An Uruk swung at Cenric when he wasn’t looking but I reached the just in time, blocking the blow with my poleaxe before swinging again and hitting the beast at the back of the neck, breaking it in one blow. The boy turned in time to see what I did, and he nodded in thanks before continuing to run. Archers on the inner wall were shooting at the Uruk’s now, buying us time, as we continued to run, until I crossed, followed by Aragorn and his two companions, the last off the outer wall. The bridge to the outer wall was fitted with a gatehouse and turret so we slammed the door shut and barred it, though in only moments we heard the monsters battering at it.

‘Won’t hold forever,’ said Cerdic.

‘I’ll stay and guard it,’ I volunteered.

‘No you won’t,’ my uncle ordered me. ‘The castle will fall soon, there’s no doubt of that. Jason, Edmund and some of the others are getting ready to hold the path up here. Go join them, we’ll buy as much time as we can.’

‘Yes uncle.’

I hurried across the yard topped by the statue to the long, curved path leading up to the yard. It was just below a section of wall marking the great keep where a dozen archers, a mix of ours and the Elves, were ready to start shooting. Amongst them I was glad to see the Fendrel brothers up there. Just below them stood three ranks of our knights, all with weapons ready, and I joined them, as did Richard.

‘We’re not coming out of this are we?’ Richard whispered.

‘I don’t think so.’

There came a crash from below followed by a hollering as the Uruk’s swarmed up the path towards us. Men on the inner wall shot down at them and as they rounded the corner before us the archers let loose a volley at them, striking down many of the Uruk’s.

‘Retreat!’ a voice called behind us and I spared a glance to see everyone else racing into the keep except for a few such as my uncle, the king and Aragorn who were making sure people were reaching the safety of the hall. Cerdic though rushed over to join us, making his way to the front of our lines and we braced ourselves to buy time for our comrades.

Our foes crashed into us, but we held our line, thrusting, stabbing and hacking away at the while the archers above us kept shooting, every second allowing more and more men and boys to escape to safety. Cerdic blocked a blow with his shield before stabbing an Uruk only for another to swing at his arm, but I blocked it with my poleaxe just in time before killing the offending beast. For a while I felt like a warrior of legend, like Beowulf, Edwin, Raedwald or Aeneas as we slew monster after monster before the order came.

‘Retreat! Everyone’s inside! Retreat!’

‘Let’s go!’ Cerdic shouted and we started running, our archers shooting a few times before they also ran.

Somehow, and to this day I’m not sure how, I, Aragorn and Jason were at the back, stabbing and hacking as we ran towards the steps. With each step back Jason stabbed with his weapon, letting out a savage growl with each blow and spurt of black blood. There Jason parried a blow with the shaft of his bill only for the wood to break in half, splinters flying everywhere. Before he could be killed though, I pulled Jason back and sliced into the beast with my poleaxe. Jason drew his arming sword and started swinging, trading a few blows before killing another Uruk and I swung three times with the hammer side of my poleaxe, killing a monster with each blow.

‘We have to go!’ I shouted at Jason and he nodded, the pair of us running up the steps and through the doors which were at once slammed shut behind us and then barred.

I let go of my weapon, it clattered to the stone floor, and then I removed my helmet, sweat running out of it as I threw off my soaked arming cap and then, at last, I collapsed to the ground, my armour banging against the flagstones as I did so. For a few seconds I just laid on the ground, panting and not thinking about the Hell waiting outside.

Then a hand gripped me by the shoulder and spun me around to look up into my uncles terrified eyes.

‘John are you alright?’ he asked, voice shrill with fear.

‘Just tired,’ I told him and his expression changed to relief.

‘Good. I promised your father I’d take care of you and I’m not letting you die tonight.’

He pulled me up to my feet and I looked around the hall to see hundreds of men and boys mixed with Elves, all exhausted and broken. Some were crying, seeing their brothers, fathers or sons killed. Some women were bringing in buckets of water with cups and I soon had a drink, feeling better for it.

Yet, as I looked around this hall, I knew I was looking at the faces of men and boys who knew they were about to die.

‘This is a mess,’ said Tancred who was nearby. ‘I said we shouldn’t have come here.’

‘Just shut up,’ I snapped at him. ‘I’m not going to die listening to you bragging about being right, save that for Saint Peter.’

‘I know we’re about to die,’ Jason added, ‘but I’d rather die here than of old age in my bed. I’ll die on me two good feet with a sword in hand and I’ll go to God with a smile on my happy, blood stained face.’

‘You know,’ said Richard, ‘I always knew it would end like this.’

‘Meaning?’ asked Marcus.

‘That I’d get killed in a castle besieged by monsters ready to turn me into the main course for their victory feast.’

‘How can you make jokes at a time like this?’ Mathew Fendrel asked him.

‘Last chance I’ll ever get.’

‘Maybe the Witch of Widford will save us,’ Tancred snidely hissed at him.

‘Shut it!’ I shouted at him again.

…

By the time the first, pale light of morning emerged, our spirits could not have been lower. A call had gone out for the women and children to escape down a narrow passage to the mountains. As for the boys who had fought, the king allowed them to go as well, thanking them for their service to king and country. As for us in the hall of the castle, we barricaded the door while the Uruk’s outside brought up their battering ram. I looked at us gathered together, a collection of men and elves, still ready to fight to the end, even if that was only because we had nowhere to run to. Of the men of Rohan, they were down to the last hundred men, our company stood with them as well and of the elves, only about twenty or so remained standing, their casualties on the Deeping Wall had been terrible, their leader Haldir still stood, though he was injured. I looked over to the king where he and Aragorn were in the midst of a fierce argument, but I paid them no mind, my job was to fight, and if my time had come, it had come.

‘We take twenty of them for each of us,’ announced Richard. ‘I won’t die before I’ve done that!’

‘Just twenty?’ asked Jason, looking at his sword. ‘I’m aiming for fifty!’

‘This isn’t a game you fools!’ shouted Tancred. ‘We’re all going to die.’

‘I’ve had enough of your cowardice,’ I hissed at Tancred.

‘How dare you call me a coward?’ he growled dangerously.

‘Because he’s right,’ Lord Robert told his son. ‘We have no chance of coming out of this alive my son. At least die with some self-respect.’

‘You argued against coming here,’ he reminded his father.

‘I did, but we can’t change the past, any part of it. Now stop whining and get ready to fight.’

Forcing a table into place over the doorway as the ram struck again we could hear the wood splitting. We only had moments, we all knew it, and we were ready. Then something changed, the sunlight, it grew brighter suddenly as the sun properly rose at last. Then the king spoke up, his voice now strong and ready for the battle.

‘The horn of Helm Hammerhand, shall sound in the Deep one last time!’

‘Yes,’ Gimli shouted and ran towards the horn.

‘Let this be the hour, we draw swords together,’ he said to Aragorn and turned to my uncle. ‘Baron, have your men’s horses brought up. We ride out one last time today! Will you ride with me as well?’

‘I’ll be honoured,’ he answered, though internally he disliked it.

 _It’s like the Battle of Wakefield all over again,_ he thought to himself. 

‘Sire,’ he then said to the king of Rohan, ‘not all of my men are gifted to fight in the saddle and prefer to fight on their own two feet.’

‘Have them form a rear guard to protect the caves.’

As my horse had died, and to be honest I’ve always preferred fighting on foot to on horseback, I volunteered to fight in the rear guard. We were a motley collection of Englishmen, Elves and Rohirrim, all tired but ready for whatever fate awaited us. Our bowmen had put down their longbows and taken up swords, falchions and hammers, joining us in the line. I said farewell to my cousins as their horses were brought up and they got ready to ride out, as did Cernric saying goodbye to his father.

‘Fell deeds awake,’ the king of Rohan proclaimed from his horse. ‘Now for wrath! Now for ruin! For the red dawn!’

The gates were smashed open as the mighty war horn of the fortress roared into life and the first of the Uruk-Hai rushed in, only to see mounted men.

‘FORTH EORLINGAS!’

The cavalry charged out, shouting and cheering as they did so and riding down many of the Uruk’s. As they rode out, those of us left rushed forwards and the fight went on.

…

In the caves there were scenes of panic as hundreds of women and children hurried through the passages towards the only escape into the mountains. Father Harold was amongst them but his ankle was still hurting so he couldn’t go very fast. Sunniva was still with him, as well as others.

‘There’s no point waiting for me,’ he told Sunniva. ‘Run as fast as you can.’

She knew he was right but didn’t want to admit it. Harold reached into his small leather bag and withdrew from it a book, its pages rough, and passed it to Sunniva.

‘Keep this safe and escape.’

‘What is it?’

‘It will take too long to explain. Now escape while you can and let old men rest.’

She looked at the book for a moment and nodded.

‘Good luck.’

‘Good luck.’

Sunniva started running along with everyone else while Harold sat down on a large rock nearby and reached to his belt, pulling out a long knife with an ornate handle, ready to wait.

…

With Alaric in my hands I swung and sliced, running through my enemies while still the fighting went on around us. We had fought with all our strength and had managed to fight out of the hall and into the Hornburg again. I and Cenric rushed onto the command turret of the castle where Theoden had commanded us the previous night. As Uruk had planet a white hand banner there and the two of us had decided to bring it down. Together we slew the beasts there and Cenric personally grabbed the banner and tore it down. From our position through we saw a stunning sight. From a nearby hill we saw a great force of cavalry in green cloaks charging towards the enemy, led by a figure in white.

‘The wizard!’ I cheered. ‘Aid has come!’

The Uruk’s knew what had happened and they had begun to flee from the castle as their comrades outside were being swept aside by the riders of Rohan. Soon the Hornburg was abandoned by the Uruk’s, desperate for a chance of escaping, but it was useless and the walls of the castle were lined by us, cheering as we saw the enemy fleeing towards the forest.

‘Where did that forest come from?’ I asked Cenric who shrugged, as confused as I was.

The enemy horde reached the trees and then the screams started. In an almost nightmarish display the trees shook and shivered tearing apart the Uruk-Hai. We watched in awe of this but men began to cheer with relief now that we knew we would live. We had won the Battle of Helm’s Deep.


	8. Chapter Eight: Cleared Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Helm's Deep is over. How long until the Battle of Middle Earth begins?

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Eight

Cleared Skies

We cheered for a while, celebrating our victory but soon we came to count the cost. So many of the brave Men and Elves who fought to defend Rohan had fallen, many young boys had been amongst the dead, struck down by the Uruk’s crossbows and sadly by the beasts which came over the walls. Fortunately, the experience and training of our company was vital for the defence of the gates lasting as long as it did and if we had not done so, many of the untrained levies of Rohan would have had to fight and many of them would have been slaughtered by these monsters born from the depths of Hell itself. Of the Elves, a hundred and sixty five of them were killed, their immortal lives ending in the defence of Men and in defiance of the dark wizard. Haldir, their commander, was amongst those who fell dead, and King Théoden asked the survivors to convey his thanks to Lady Galadriel. For Rohan, they lost a hundred and seven men, over a third of the Rohirric force at Helm’s Deep. For our company, twelve of us were killed, a small number in the scheme of the battle but for a force of only a hundred, it was a terrible loss. Of the knights, Sir Gad de Trafford, Sir Roger Carey, Sir Godfrey Gage, Sir Valentine Poitier, Sir Donald Stanley and Sir John Berry laid dead, as did the squire Robert Black, the yeomen Richard of Sandwich, Aiden of York, who at Edoras had spoken so well of fighting here instead of trying to track down a way to go home to his wife and sons, and Peter Peterson and the mercenaries Isaac of Avon, Henry of Wearmouth and Henry of Carlisle.

The bodies of the Uruk-Hai had been hauled out of the castle by Eomer’s men, it had been decided that those of us who defended the castle throughout that darkest of nights would be allowed to rest. The corpses were burned on massive pyres, the smoke reaching up into the sky while the preparations were made for the burial of our dead. Each of them was covered with blankets for some respect so their loved ones would not have to look at the wounds which killed them. In the case of the de Trafford brothers, it was an extra boon as poor Gad, after his body fell from the causeway, had been hacked to pieces by the savage beasts below. While the two surviving brothers hadn’t watched, we salvaged his remains and prepared them for burial.

Eomer’s men dug a large pit over the course of a few hours behind the Deeping Wall. These men and Elves died defending Helm’s Deep, and in turn they would find eternal peace within that castle. Each body was placed in the pit, one by one, until all were laid down and several came forward to say some words. The Elves all came together and sung a sombre tune at the edge of the pit before stepping away and allowing Théoden to come forwards, looking down into the pit at so many dead and then looked at all those gathered around with tired eyes.

‘The price of victory was heavy, and it shall be one this country will remember until the end of days. Last night we have proven that strength still lives on in our hearts, and with that strength we shall endure whatever test is thrown at us, whatever struggle we face. Those who gave their all, who made the final sacrifice for their loved ones, we will remember them. Now we say farewell to these heroes, one final time.’

Théoden had offered my uncle the chance to speak but he declined and asked that it be given to Father Harold instead. The priest, clad in the same finery he had worn the previous night, stepped to the grave side, and clearly, he began to speak in Latin.

‘Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat eis. Fidelium animae, per misericordiam Dei, requiescant in pace. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ I and the rest of our company repeated.

Harold bowed to the dead and made the sign of the cross before stepping away. Theoden nodded to a line of men nearby who each raised a horn to their lips and let out a long blast, and then the great horns of the castle were blown before more men with shovels began to fill in the grave. The de Trafford brothers were both weeping as they watched their brother being buried while everyone began to depart, mostly heading back to the caves. I and my cousins headed in the direction of the hall while we talked.

‘I got seventeen of them,’ Richard told us.

‘Fifteen,’ Marcus told us.

‘Sixteen,’ I said with a smile. ‘I can’t believe we survived last night. I thought we were all going to die.’

‘So did most of us,’ Marcus agreed. ‘This victory is going to send Saruman a message.’

‘That he’ll need to raise more soldiers?’ asked Richard.

‘No, that he can be beaten, and his master will hear that message as well.’

At his statement the three of us stopped and looked at the oldest of us, realising what the wider impact of the battle would be.

‘Sauron’s going to strike soon,’ I said, the feeling of dread creeping over me.

‘And he’s going to strike hard. I don’t know where, but I have a bad feeling we’ll be in the middle of it.’

After a shared ominous look, we continued up to the hall, my uncle had asked that all of our company assemble there after the burial. On the steps though I was stopped when my name was called out.

‘John.’

I turned to see Sunniva, wearing a more formal dress than I’d seen her in before, approaching me quickly.

‘You two head on, I’ll join you in a minute.’

‘Alright,’ agreed Marcus.

‘Have fun,’ Richard laughed.

I joined Sunniva near the statue and then we began to speak.

‘My father and brother told me about what you did last night,’ Sunniva said.

‘What did I do?’ I asked, the battle had been so extreme and violent that some details weren’t clear to me yet.

‘Near the end when you retreated from the outer wall and that beast nearly killed Cenric when his back was turned.’

‘And I blocked the blow,’ I said, remembering now what she meant. ‘I know he’d have done the same for me.’

‘Still John, you saved his life. I just wanted to say thank you.’

‘Your father already did before the funeral, but still Sunniva, I appreciate it. Your brother fought well too, and so did your father. If Cenric was an Englishman, he’d have earned his spurs for last night.’

‘I suppose so. He says he killed seven Ururk’s in the fight.’

‘He did well for his first battle, that’s for sure. How was it in the caves last night? Were you alright?’

‘We managed, but it was terrifying. I remember when the explosion happened that destroyed the wall, we felt the entire mountain shake.’

‘It must have been terrible.’

‘Father Harold kept our spirits up. He was the only truly calm man in there last night, kneeling there and praying. A few of us prayed with him.’

I was surprised a little, knowing that none of the people of Rohan were Christian but they still prayed, following Father Harold’s example.

‘I need to get to the hall. It’s been good talking to you Sunniva.’

‘And you John. Take care.’

‘God be with you,’ I said and then hurried up to the hall, entering with the last few arrivals.

The hall was packed with our company and my uncle, Father Harold and Lord Robert stood at its head. I came to stand with my cousins and Jason while we waited for the last few to enter. At last they did and my uncle cleared his throat, getting our attention.

‘Last night was honestly the hardest battle I have ever fought in, and I fear that it will not be the last in this war. Soon, Theoden King shall be riding to Isengard to accept the surrender of Saruman, and he has asked that several of us go with him. I shall go, and I invite half a dozen to act as my guards. Do I have nay volunteers?’

‘Me,’ said Jason. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing a wizard’s fortress.’

‘I too,’ said Sir Jack Able.

‘Sounds like an adventure,’ said Richard. ‘I’ll go with you.’

Both Marcus and I volunteered but my uncle turned us down, deciding that only one of his family should accompany him. His other three guards were decided to be Sir Arthur Parker, Robert of Wessex and Judah Tyler.

‘Now that’s decided, onto another matter, perhaps one more important for many of you. William, Thomas and Andrew FitzAlan, please step forwards.’

The thee squires, respectively aged eighteen, nineteen and twenty, all younger brothers of Sir Arthur FitzAlan, also of our company, stepped towards my uncle. He then proceeded to call out more names of our squires.

‘Richard Armstrong, Thomas Grant and Lucas Mortimer.’

The six of them were the oldest of our squires, Lucas was the youngest at sixteen and Andrew was the oldest squire.

‘Last night, the six of you fought as heroes of legend, all fighting well and being a credit to your masters, and those who trained you. I wish there was a way to make this more formal but given our circumstances this will do. You have earned the right to become knights,’ he then drew his sword and held it high. ‘Form a line.’

All six of them, clearly all excited and happy, formed a row at the front of the hall, kneeling before my uncle. My uncle, with dignity and honour, tapped each one on each shoulder with his sword before delivering a sharp slap across the face. When the last had received the blow my uncle loudly declared.

‘Rise, Sir William FitzAlan, Sir Thomas FitzAlan, Sir Andrew FitzAlan, Sir Richard Armstrong, Sir Thomas Grant and Sir Lucas Mortimer, Knights of England.’

They all stood up, trying to look dignified but all smiling, happy that they finally attained what they wanted. They re-joined the crowd of us, we cheered them on and offered our congratulations before my uncle called for silence again.

‘Well done, well done indeed. Now, it must be said, that the oldest of our squires fought well as did the younger ones, and your chance of knighthood will come again. However, it must be said that our squires were not the only ones who fought with honour and deserve a reward. Edmund of Wearmouth, Jason Bridge, Thomas Fendrel, Robert of Tynemouth, Tom of Westmoreland, Richard Bakerson, William of Dover and Peter of Pevensey.’

They all stepped forwards, they had not been expecting this, Jason looking absolutely surprised as he left our side, the three of us laughing as he did so, many others were doing so as well but some of the knights looked annoyed. One by one, by uncle knighted these common men for their acts of valour in the battle, my uncle declaring why each received his knighthood.

‘Edmund, your skill in battle and your heroic, albeit unnecessary counter attack along the causeway, proved your courage.’

‘Jason, you and my nephew were among the last defenders to enter the hall before we shut the doors. You fought like a hero.’

‘Thomas Fendrel, you stood your ground under enemy crossbow bolts and kept shooting even as it appeared our cause was lost. You proved yourself worthy of becoming a knight.’

‘Robert of Tynemouth, when your axe was broken you kept fighting armed only with your fists, breaking the necks of three Uruk-Hai personally. I don’t know if you were mad or brave, but I will assume you were brave.’

‘Tom of Westmoreland, armed only with a knife when you lost your billhook you refused to abandon the ladder you were fighting at and bought valuable time to allow the children fighting on the wall to escape.’

‘Richard Bakerson, you were the first to volunteer to join our rear guard when the gate was breached, almost losing your life and slaying many of those monsters. Your courage is proven.’

‘William of Dover, I saw you wrestle the sword of an Uruk from its hands and then you used it for the rest of the battle, killing fifteen Uruk-Hai with it. I see you still carry that sword this morning.’

‘Peter of Pevensey, after losing your weapons in the gatehouse, you removed your helmet and used it to batter an Uruk to death’

‘This morning, each of you was but a common man, now rise my friends, as knights.’

Each of them stood up to receive applause from the other yeomen and mercenaries and many of the knights did as well, myself and my cousins included.

‘Congratulations to you all. The party travelling to Isengard will leave in an hour, get ready for the journey. What awaits us there, we shall soon find out. The rest of you will be under the command of Lord Robert and you shall journey back to Edoras with the people here, acting as guards as we did on the way here. When I reunite with you, we will then decide our next move. God be with us all.’

An hour later, Theoden King, Aragorn, Gandalf and the members of our company who were going with them, set off for Isengard. Marcus and I stood on the wall of the castle while we watched them ride away.


	9. Chapter Nine: The Wizard's Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As John returns to Edoras, James Harris joins Gandalf and the King of Rohan on their journey to Isengard where another step is taken along the path of destiny.

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Nine

The Wizard’s Words

The return to Edoras was much more positive than our exodus from the city, though we were burdened by the knowledge that so many had been killed. Some of us volunteered to return to the sight of our fight against the Wargs to deal with our dead. Sadly, the kings prediction of the Wargs returning had been true and there was not much left of our men, though we buried what we could find, and Father Harold carried out the funeral rites. We soon joined the column again and continued our journey to Edoras. Many of the refugees from the farms and villages decided to remain with us for safety as there were still rumoured to be Orc packs and wild men roaming the countryside. The result was that we were on alert until we reached Edoras. On the way, we went past Cerdic’s farm and with relief we found that the place was intact. Cerdic’s servants went to work unloading their belongings back in place, I and a few of us volunteered to stay as they did so to make sure they were protected, though the risk of an attack so close to Edoras was remote.

Cerdic’s people made sure the horses were back in the pen, they were all clearly relieved to be so, and just in time as one of the mares began to give birth soon after we arrived. At that point everyone went to work, Sunniva and a couple of men helping the animal along. However, for myself, Sir Edward Wolfson and Sir Allan Perrin who had remained, there was little to do but wait. At last, that afternoon, Sunniva emerged from the barn, her hair a mess from the work she’d been doing. After speaking to her father who then kissed her on the cheek she walked towards me.

‘Did it go alright?’ I asked her.

‘We’ve got a new colt,’ she said with a triumphant smile. ‘It was the mare’s first as well, hard on her.’

‘I’m glad it turned out alright at least. The mare will recover, won’t she?’

‘She will do. She just needs rest.’

‘Well done on bringing her through.’

‘The hands knew what they were doing, I just helped. Anyway, my father wants to speak to you.’

‘Have I offended him somehow?’

‘I don’t think so, he just wants a word.’

‘Alright then.’

The two of us walked up the hill towards the house and once inside I saw Cerdic ordering his servants to put his belongings back in place.

‘Ah John, you’re here. I wanted to properly thank you for keeping an eye on Cenric during the battle.’

‘I was honoured to have him as my squire, sir. He proved himself a capable warrior.’

‘He certainly did. Still, I’d like to properly thank you for what you did. Your horse was killed fighting the Wargs, I’d like to gift you a replacement.’

That took me by surprise, a horse was an expensive gift.

‘Thank you sir, but I can’t accept it.’

‘You will accept it John. Come with me, I’ll show you the horse I have in mind for you. Come on, you too Sunniva.’

We left the house and walked towards the large horse enclosure, Cerdic leading us.

‘Sunniva,’ he said to his daughter, ‘in the morning you will take five of the servants and head to our house in Edoras.’

‘Why can’t I stay here?’

‘For your own safety. Cenric and I will stay for a few more days before joining you, just to make sure everything here’s in order.’

‘I’d rather be with you.’

‘And I’d rather stay with you, but your safety comes first. Sir John, I must ask you to make sure my daughter remains safe while in Edoras.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘I am not exactly defenceless, father,’ Sunniva reminded him.

‘You’re not a shield maiden either. Here we are,’ he said as we reached a fenced off part of the enclosure occupied by a single stallion. ‘What do you think John?’

The horse in question was a destrier, and a fine example of one as well, tall, muscular and with a well-arched neck. His coat was white with a long black line along its snout. A pair of Cerdic’s men were fitting him with his riding equipment, and the horse himself appeared to be calm as this was happening.

‘What’s his name?’ I asked Cerdic.

‘Whagen,’ answered Sunniva. ‘It means White Cloud in the Common Tongue.’

‘His age?’

‘He just turned four,’ Cerdic told me as he led us into the enclosure. ‘He’s got a good temper and very disciplined.’

‘May I ride him?’ I asked.

‘Of course. Take him around the enclosure a few times and then try him in the fields around the farm.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

When saddle and bridle were on Whagen, I calmly approached the horse and carefully stroked him on the neck. After a few minutes of him becoming accustomed to my presence I carefully climbed into the saddle and took the reins. It only took a moment for him to become accustomed to my weight and I started to ride him, slowly along the line of the fence. It was a strange experience, riding a horse from Rohan for the first time. It was almost like the beast was so well disciplined that he practically knew what I wanted without instructions. I sped up and cantered around the enclosure before urging him to stop. Outside of the enclosure, I commanded Whagen to gallop at full speed and his stamina and the strength in his body was unmatched by any horse I had ever ridden. I reached the top of a hill and looked back down to the farm before riding back towards the cluster of buildings. At last I reached the enclosure where Sunniva and Cerdic were still waiting.

‘A fine horse,’ I told them. ‘I’m honoured to have him.’

‘So you should be. He’s a fair reward for what you did. Now, I think it’s time for supper soon and I’m hungry, please join us.’

…

The next morning, Sunniva and her servants, three women and two men, had climbed onto their horses, not bringing the cart with them as they had supplies at the Edoras house and at a good ride in good weather, like that day, it would only take a few hours to reach the city. We soon got under way and my new horse proved his worth, Sunniva and I riding together and talking as we travelled along.

‘I’m sorry if it feels like your fathers forcing me to spy on you,’ I told her.

‘It’s alright John, he’s just protective.’

‘I was just worried you’d be annoyed by me being around.’

‘Not at all. You’re far from the worst company I’ve kept.’

‘That’s good to know, more or less.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that, not at all. Anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘Go on then.’

‘It’s about Father Harold. Why do you all call him “father” when he isn’t your father?’

‘It’s his title,’ I answered, feeling strange that I would have to explain it as I had spent my whole life around Christians. In a way her question reminded me how isolated I and the rest of my companions were compared to the rest of the strange world we had found ourselves in. ‘He is a priest and his title is Father.’

‘So he acts as a parent to your company?’

‘That’s right, and it’s a way of showing him respect.’

‘I see. You know, I’ve never actually met a priest before him.’

‘There aren’t priests in this country?’

‘No, sometimes there are hermits in the countryside, but we’ve never really had need of priests.’

‘But why not? You may not follow my faith but surely you believe in something?’

‘We do, but we’ve just never needed priests. I suppose I’ve never thought about it before but, we all know the tales of how this world was created and how the race of man was born. We all know the stories but, we’ve never needed priests, at least not in Rohan.’

‘What of Gondor? Do they have priests?’

‘I heard a story once that the people of Númenor built a temple where men were sacrificed before their island was destroyed. I heard that Lord Aragron is a descendant of them, he might know more than I.’

‘His people practiced sacrifice?’

‘It’s just a story, but from what I’ve heard the Dúnedain, that’s his people, saw the dark path their kingdom was going down, so they left their island before it’s destruction.’

‘I see.’

‘It’s just, how strong is Father Harold’s faith in your God?’

‘He’s a priest, and I’ve met a few who were only priests because their family demanded it of them, but Father Harold is one of the good ones.’

‘It makes sense. During the battle, he was the only one in the caves who was calm, who wasn’t worried,’ as she said it she looked at the ground, contemplating something. ‘I think, I think I’d like to talk to him when we reach Edoras.’

‘About what?’

‘I’m not sure, John, I’m not sure yet.’

Not thinking much of it, we continued and soon arrived at the capital city of Rohan. It was busier than when we first arrived, thanks to everyone from the countryside who had decided to remain at the city for their own safety. Cerdic’s house in the city was slightly smaller than his house at the farm, located near the top of the hill. I offered to help Sunniva and her people unpack but she said no, saying it would be better for me to re-join our company. Naturally, half of them were at the tavern we held our vote and the other half were in the training grounds. Of course I joined them, but if I went to the training grounds or tavern I shall not say, and instead divert you away from my life story to that of my uncle and cousin at Isengard.

The journey was easy for them and it didn’t take long until they were approaching the walls of Isengard, through Fangorn Forest which had taken back the land cleared by the wizard to fuel his furnaces. After seeing the deadly work of the trees at the end of the battle my uncle felt wary riding through a forest, though Legolas and Gandalf insisted there was nothing to worry about. Still some way off, the party talked as they rode along, Gandalf talking to my uncle, mostly about by grandfather.

‘Many times on our journey, he talked about you, your mother and your brother.’

‘I still can’t believe he’s been in Erebor this whole time.’

‘And he’s spent it all hunting for records on ancient lore, trying to find a way through to England. Well, he has spent a great deal of time travelling Middle Earth as well. He joined me a few times on adventures after the Quest for Erebor.’

‘What sort of things did you do?’

‘Searching libraries, delved into a couple of ruins, defeated some Orc packs. He was a fine companion to me.’

My uncle frowned slightly and looked down at the ground sighing.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘He, he just makes me make of Daniel.’

‘I am sorry that you lost your brother, that Bartholomew lost his son.’

‘As am I, but the way you just talked of my father, he sounds alike my brother. He was always welcome at Widford Castle but he insisted that he needed to find his own way in the world. Somehow he ended up around the Baltic Sea where he married the daughter of a local lord. She died sadly, in child birth no less, giving birth to their daughter.’

‘John has a sister?’

‘The baby girl died three days after her mother and Daniel, he came home after that. The man was broken for over a year.’

‘That’s a sad tale my friend.’

‘It was a sad thing. He was just, he just wasn’t the man he used to be, that was until he met Matilda Tamms, a childless noble widow. She was a good woman and, I suppose she brought him back to who he used to be. She was John’s mother.’

‘I’m surprised John hasn’t talked about his sister.’

‘He never knew the girl. I often think that he sees my sons as his brothers even though they’re his cousins, but sometimes I think if his sister had lived it would have been better for him.’

‘You care a lot about your nephew.’

‘Of course I do. I’m not his father but Daniel died was John was only eleven, I’ve taken care of him all these years.’

‘You’re a good man, James. Ah, here we are.’

They had reached the end of the forest and before them they saw a crumbling section of a stone gate house and sitting there was, to my uncle, the Englishmen and the men of Rohan, a sight they had not seen before. Two small figures, the size of children, though their faces were those of adults and their feet were not covered by shoes but were very large and hairy. Both of them sat there smoking from long pipes and enjoying a picnic of salted pork, bread, cheese and ale.

‘Welcome!’ one of them proclaimed and stood up. ‘Welcome my lords, to Isengard!’

‘You young rascals!’ Gimli, sharing a horse with Prince Legolas, shouted at them, though not with anger but with happiness. ‘A merry hunt you led us on and here we find you feasting and smoking!’

‘We are sitting, my good friend,’ the figure cheerfully responded, ‘on a field of victory, sharing a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good.’

‘Salted pork?’ Gimli asked, a longing look in his eyes.

‘Is there anything left in that keg?’ Jason then called out. ‘Forgive me but it’s been a long journey and I’m parched.’

‘Sadly sir, this keg is empty, but in the store rooms there is ale, beer, wine, butter, cheese, bread, apples and, well, you get the picture.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he then looked at my uncle. ‘Shall we feast and then take Saruman’s head or the other way around?’

‘That is not for me to decide,’ was his response and then looked at the king and Gandalf.

‘Saruman has much to answer for, and we shall have answers,’ Theoden decided.

‘I agree,’ the wizard said. ‘His army is crushed, but he is still dangerous to us. Anyway, allow me to make introductions, Theoden King, Baron James, before you are Meriadoc Brandybuck, known also as Merry, and Peragrin Took, known as Pippin, two Hobbits of the Shire.’

‘Well met Hobbits,’ the king of Rohan said to them. ‘I am Theoden, King of Rohan.’

‘Sire,’ Merry said and bowed, as did Pippin.

‘Hobbits,’ my uncle then said. ‘I am James Harris, Baron of Widford. I understand that my father, Bartholomew, is a friend of one of your people, Bilbo Baggins.’

‘You’re Bartholomew Harris’s son?’ asked Pippin, astonished.

‘Indeed I am.’

‘We met him at Rivendell just before we started travelling south,’ Pippin explained. ‘He was an excellent man, and we knew of hum by Bilbo’s stories. It’s an honour to meet you as well.’

‘Now,’ the wizard said, a steely look coming over his face, ‘let us deal with Saruman.’

The party rode through the gateway and into the compound itself where my uncle gasped at the sight of the colossal tower of black stone before him, never in his life had he seen a structure so tall and evoking such power, even the ancient ruins of the long destroyed Rome and the tallest of cathedrals couldn’t match this. Yet, something was wrong about the place. The grounds were flooded, knee deep in water in most places, and tall piles of destroyed structures were scattered about. It was a place which felt wounded, with a bandage only just being applied though the blood could still be seen.

Even more stunning to my uncle and almost the entire group, with the exception of the wizard and the Hobbits, were the Ent’s. They were a sight which filled my uncle with terror but soon such fears were put to rest when their leader, Tree Beard, a tall, grandfatherly looking tree with a long beard of moss and which was both as calming as a summer’s night and as powerful of thunder.

‘Young master Gandalf,’ Tree Beard rumbled. ‘I am please that you’ve come. Wood and water, rock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower.’

‘How will we get him out?’ my uncle asked Gandalf. ‘I don’t fancy the idea of charging through and facing any sorcerous traps and tricks.’

‘If we’re doing that, you have a volunteer,’ Jason laughed.

‘Here, here,’ said Richard.

‘Silence,’ Gandalf snapped. ‘The armies of Isengard have been destroyed for ever but even now, Saruman remains dangerous.’

‘Then let’s have his head and be done with it,’ said Gimli. ‘Richard, Jason, I’ll race you to him.’

‘No,’ my uncle silenced the three who wanted a crack at the wizard who had caused so much destruction. ‘He may have unleashed monsters but we can at least be decent, and question him. Surely he knows what Sauron plans.’

‘An interesting suggestion,’ a calming yet powerful voice called down and everyone looked up to a balcony in the wall of the tower where a figure clad in white, with a long white beard and holding a dark staff, stood tall and haughty. ‘A gentleman of war’s suggestion, Baron James Erucaunion. Before me stands many men who have fought in many wars, and surely you all know the traditions and conventions of war, that at its end we make peace. Theoden King, my old friend, the war between us is over, and now let us talk and share counsel as we did before, making peace together.’

 _So this is Saruman,_ my uncle thought and it was not what he had been expecting. As a child he’d heard stories of wizards and warlocks and expected a twisted monster with matted hair hiding in his tower, scheming up plots and brewing potions. Yet, before him was a figure similar to Gandalf, standing tall and proud with the bearing of a priest or a bishop, a respectable man of authority. He appeared to be someone to listen to, a source of limitless knowledge and wisdom.

This sort of man was the most dangerous type of man.

‘Yes Saruman, we shall have peace,’ Theoden answered calmly but then his voice and face turned to rage. ‘It shall be a peace earned by you answering for your crimes, for the homes and farms burned across the West Fold and the innocents who you left for the carrion birds. We shall have peace for the warriors who fell at the Hornburg and were then torn apart by your beasts even though they had fallen. They shall be avenged! All of Rohan shall be avenged when your corpse is in a gibbet and left for your own crows.’

‘You think you can condemn me you dotard? And you Gandalf Greyhame, what do you want here? The Key of Orthanc or Barad Dur? Perhaps you want the rods of the five wizards and the crowns of the seven kings?’

‘Your treachery has caused many deaths, thousands of innocents are still in danger, but perhaps you can earn some manner of redemption by helping us. You were deep in the enemies counsel.’

‘Ah, so it is knowledge which has brought you here. I have news for you then, the Eye sees all, he knows all. His armies are limitless and you, all of you, are going to die. Of course Gandalf, you know this don’t you? You knew it was a lost cause and you still intend of leading them into death.’

‘Nothing’s a lost cause until all have given up,’ my uncle answered this remark. ‘Many would have called Helm’s Deep a lost cause and yet we still triumphed.’

‘Baron, if you think that the War of the Ring can be won by mere men, then you are a deluded fool. Gandalf would see this ragged ranger from a broken line put on the throne of Gondor when even someone like you would be much more suitable, the blood in your veins is royal enough and have you not already been a saviour of princes?’

At the last part, Richard noticed that the colour drained from my uncles face before answering

‘Clearly sorcerer, you have some means of looking into my past and therefore you know of my character. It is also clear to me that if Aragorn does a become king, it would be well earned.’

‘Baron James, of the line of Deira and Bernicia, you are a fool. If you had joined me, you would be sharing in the spoils of victory right now.’

‘I see no spoils here, Saruman, and clearly you do not know of my character if you think I would join scum like you. Just give us the information we need.’

‘My armies are gone, but I am still in a better position than Gandalf’s closest friend,’ he then glared at his fellow wizard. ‘I am less doomed than the Halfling you sent on a mission of death. How did you persuade him to do it? What did you whisper in his ear to make him as much a fool as you? How easy it is that someone who claims to be good and kind can so easily send those they claim to love to be sacrificed.’

‘Come down, Saruman! Your life will be spared if you do.’

‘Spare me your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!’

A ball of fire then cascaded from his staff down at Gandalf and he was engulfed in a ball of fire. The horses were terrified and my uncle was barely able to keep his under control but everyone looked at the swirling ball of orange light surrounding the wizard with horror, fearing that Gandalf was gone. Then it vanished. The flames parted and Gandalf and his white horse remained where they once were, unharmed.

‘Saruman! Your staff is broken.’

The rod in Saruman’s hand then splintered in a flash and the wizard looked at his hand with fear and anger. A dark figure then moved behind him and a snivelling little man appeared.

‘Wormtongue,’ growled Richard.

‘Grima!’ Theoden called out. ‘You do not have to follow him. You were not always as you are now. Once you were a man of Rohan and you can be again if you would but come down and join us. Your crimes were great, but you will be treated fairly.’

‘There’s nothing to be proud of in being a man of Rohan, a man of a stinking barn filled with drunken brigands and where brats roll on the floor with mutts. Theoden King, Helm’s Deep was not won by you, you weak, useless off shoot of a once great house.’

‘Grima,’ the King of Rohan ignored the wizard. ‘Grima please come down and be free of Saruman at last.’

‘Free? He will never be free? Now get inside you cur,’ Saruman shoved Grima back into the tower and turned to face down at the party again.

‘Enough Saruman. You were Sauron’s ally, tell us what you know so that lives may be sparred.’

‘It will do you no good, but fine. Withdraw the guards and I will tell where you will be destroyed.’

He then gasped, his whole-body stiffening as Grima again and again plunged a long dagger into his back. Quickly, Legolas aimed his bow and arrow and shot at Grima but it was too late. Saruman fell from the balcony and crashed into the water beneath him, his bloody form breathing out its last breath of life. A cloud gathered above his form, longingly gazing towards the west until a great breeze dispersed the cloud towards the east.

‘Send word to all our allies,’ Gandalf said to the king of Rohan with great authority, ‘and to all corners of Middle Earth that still stand free. The Enemy moves against us and we need to know where he will strike.’

‘Could we search the tower?’ asked my uncle.

‘I was about to suggest it. Let’s go.’

Pippin was already off the horse he shared with Gandalf, splashing through the water which to him was waist high until he reached the spot where Saruman’s body rested in the water and reached near it, pulling from the water something which my uncle thought was a large polished ball of glass.

‘I’ll take that,’ Gandalf told him with some worry, and he slipped the ball into his robes.

After that they entered the tower, Gandalf opening the doors after a moment holding his staff against them. While most of the party went to the libraries, my uncle and his men went to an experimental armoury room where Jason was glad to find a replacement billhook for the one he lost at Helm’s Deep. It was slightly heavier and looked more brutal but he gladly took it as a spoil of war.

‘It must have been a potential weapon for the Uruk-Hai,’ my uncle concluded.

‘Why didn’t he make more of them for his army? This is a good weapon.’ Jason wondered.

‘His first enemy was Rohan,’ said Richard. ‘It makes sense to fight cavalry with pikemen.’

‘I see.’

‘Now look at this,’ my uncle said as he looked over a stack of papers on a desk and Jason shrugged his shoulders.

‘It’s a recipe I recognise,’ my uncle explained to him. ‘I believe this was his formula for black powder.’

‘Goodness,’ Richard said as he looked over some other papers. ‘Father, look at this.’

He did so and was shocked to see designs, although basic and clearly only first draft versions, of cannons.

‘Our battle could have been a lot harder,’ he said after looking over the designs.

‘Why didn’t he make them?’ asked Richard.

‘I’d guess that it was easier to build a traditional army first and then give them cannons later. That said, I’m not sure these cannons would have worked, the rear ends are too thin for the blast, but I’d say if Saruman had another year his Uruk’s may have marched on Helm’s Deep with these.’

‘We’re lucky then,’ Jason nodded slowly.

‘We’d better help them up in the library,’ my uncle said at last and as everyone filled out, Richard spotted my uncle taking the formula for the black powder and putting it in his cloak.

**AN: Sorry this update took a while but I’m back at uni which is taking up time. Still, I’m glad to get this one up for you guys and I hope you all enjoy it.**

#### Emma claude: I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and thanks for the review.


	10. Chapter Ten: Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Rohan safe and Saruman dead, the Company and the people of Edoras celebrate their victory. However, the events of that night will pave the road to the next great battle of the War of the Ring.

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Ten

Celebrations

It was in the afternoon that I and the rest of our company stood in the Golden Hall, along with almost every man, woman and child in Edoras. There was a low hum of chatter in the air as we all waited for the party to start. I sat alongside my cousins, my uncle and the rest of the party had returned from Isengard not long after I and Sunniva arrived at Edoras.

‘You should have seen it,’ said Richard. ‘One minute, there he was, bragging about how we’re all doomed, next second, he’s dead on the ground.’

‘I’d have preferred a hanging,’ said Marcus. ‘It would have been a good punishment for the bastard.’

‘Anyway, how have you two been? Did you do anything over the last few days?’

‘Not really, just helped get these people back here,’ answered Marcus. ‘Well, John spent a night at Reeve Cerdic’s farm before escorting Lady Sunniva back here.’

‘Did he?’ Richard asked dramatically and then wildly gestured with his eyebrows, so I gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, in turn he chuckled.

After he said her name, I looked over to Sunniva who stood with a group of her friends on another side of the hall. Our eyes met and she smiled at me, a gesture I returned before she looked away and continued talking to her friends. After we arrived at Edoras, and Sunniva finished unpacking her belongings, she went to the tavern where she found Father Harold drinking a glass of mead. I understand that they talked for about an hour before they headed up to the Hall for the celebration to start. At the time I wasn’t sure what they were discussing, though later I would learn that its significance was very important.

At last, King Theoden, Prince Eomer and Lady Eowyn stepped into place at the head of the Hall and all of us were silenced. The King of Rohan raised the cup in his hand and we all took hold of ours.

‘Tonight, we honour those who fell in defence of their country. Hail the Victorious Dead!’

‘Hail!’ we all echoed and took a deep drink from our mugs.

After this solemn declaration of victory, we began to celebrate. Musicians picked up their harps, lutes and pipes, our Oswald joined them in playing tunes, quickly picking up these people’s notes and joining in. Soon cheering and laughing came to dominate the room and for just that night, all the horrors of war which this land had suffered through for those past weeks and months were forgotten for a night of joy and happiness. Eventually I found myself sharing drinks with Edmund, the merchant who my uncle had judged to be of right character to be a leader of our company.

‘It was incredible,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen a fight like it, never in all my life.’

‘Agreed. I mean, we were both at Bosworth and that was bigger but, I never thought I’d see a fight that hard where I was so outnumbered.’

‘You know, a part of me is glad I didn’t have to be on the walls at the start. I can’t say for certain I’d have stood my ground having to watch them coming, hearing them was bad enough.’

‘Still made a fool of myself though, charging out of the gates like that. What was I thinking?’

‘I was out there charging with you.’

‘We needed someone to stop us. I remember, when I was a lad, we had messengers riding through our village sometimes and me and the other boys would run after them. Once when I was around thirteen me and a few others ran after one for so long that we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere with night falling.’

‘Goodness, how long did it take for you to get back?’

‘We got back after midnight. I swear, my mother beat my behind so raw I couldn’t sit down right for a month. Goodness, what a woman.’

We chuckled together at the story when I heard Oswald talking loudly, trying to get as many of us together as possible.

‘Alright Englishmen, you’ll all know the words when I start playing so please join in. Alright? Wait!’ he then picked up his mug of beer and finished it, letting out a sigh and then raising his pipe to his lips.

About fifteen of us were gathered together at that point, as well a few of Rohan’s people, curious at what we were doing. I spotted Father Harold and even my uncle and both of my cousins and Edmund, with us as we waited for Oswald to start. He began an upbeat tune and after a few moments I recognised it, as did all our company, a few laughing at knowing what it was. At last, we began to sing, singing with drinks which always makes music better.

_The False Fox came into our Croft_

_And so our Geese so fast he Sought_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The False Fox came into our Yard_

_And there he made the geese afraid_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The false fox came upon our Gate_

_And took our geese where they were safe_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The false fox came to Hall’s Door_

_And stole our geese there on the floor._

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The false fox came into our Hall_

_and attacked our geese both great and small_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The false fox came into our Coop_

_And there he made our geese to stop_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_He took a goose fast by the Neck_

_And the goose began to quack_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The Good Wife came out in her Smock_

_And at the fox she threw a rock_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The Good Man came out with his Flail_

_And smote the fox upon its tail_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_He threw a goose upon his Back_

_And forth he went too with his pack_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The good man swore if that he Might_

_He would slay if it was night_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The false fox went into his Den_

_And there he was fully merry then_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_He came again the very next week_

_And took away both hen and chick_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_The false fox came upon a Day_

_And with our geese he made away_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_He took a goose fast by the Neck_

_And made her to say Wheccumquek_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

_“I pray thee fox” said the goose though_

_“Take of my feathers not of my life”_

_With how fox how!_

_With hey fox hey!_

_Come no more into our house_

_To bear our geese away._

And with the end of the song we all laughed and cheered, with Oswald himself making a dramatic bow before playing another song. I chose not to join in this one, instead I decided to find Sunniva. On the way I passed Richard who was leaning against one of the pillars and chatting with a red headed servant girl.

‘So we came in here,’ he said, ‘and Wormtongue was just snivelling at Gandalf while his thugs were getting into place to attack. Well, I knew we were getting into a fight no matter what so I just grabbed Wormtongue and bang, threw him right into this pillar,’ he then slapped the pillar.

‘I wish I was actually there. Just my luck to be on washing duty that day.’

‘It was nothing special,’ he bragged.

‘I know it wasn’t,’ I said, interrupting him and properly getting revenge for his earlier remarks and looked at the woman. ‘It’s his usual opening move when he get’s into fights at the tavern. Grabs them and throws them at the wall. Gives the rest of us enough time to run out,’ I then looked at Richard who was annoyed bit still saw the humour from it. ‘See you later cousin.’

Chuckling at my small triumph I continued through the hall to find Sunniva but on the way I ran into the Fendrel brothers and a few of the other archers in our company who were engaged in a series of arm-wrestling contests, made all the better with beer. Mathew Fendrel, the younger brother, was facing off against Luke Smith, both of them deadlocked while Thomas was egging his little brother on. After passing them I then came upon Sunniva who had been drinking and laughing with a pair of other young women. When she saw me, she bade them farewell and approached me.

‘Are you alright John?’ she asked with a smile on her face.

‘Of course. Are you?’

‘I’m on my second ale now, so I’m very good.’

‘Only your second?’

‘Well,’ she said, drawing out the word until we both laughed. ‘Yes, it’s only my second.’

‘It’s a shame Cerdic and Cenric aren’t here.’

‘My father doesn’t really enjoy these parties, still it would have been nice. It’s a bit hot in here, I’m going to get some air. Would you like to come along?’

‘I’d be happy to.’

The two of us stepped outside of the Golden Hall to stand near the steps, looking out at the quiet city. The sun had just started to set and the birds were singing their final songs of the day. The planes of Rohan beyond the city were peaceful, cast in the golden light of the early evening.

‘It’s a beautiful country,’ I said to her. ‘Your people have a beautiful land.’

‘It certainly us, and I adore it, but it’s been through such dark times in the past few months that, that I feared it would all die.’

‘My country, England, has been through so many wars, but it still stands. All countries face war and terror, but while their people can stand strong, it will not fall.’

‘What were they fighting for in England?’

‘For the throne, two houses going at each other for years. It all seems so petty right now, after I’ve seen the Uruk-Hai. I feel like in England, I feel like we forgot what was worth fighting for.’

‘You’re here now, and you’re fighting for a good cause. You saved my brother’s life in that fight.’

‘I’m glad I did as well, or else I’d have to deal with your fathers wrath. He is certainly a good man, but I saw how well he fought near the end of the battle and I don’t fancy the idea of crossing swords with him.’

‘Trust me John, even if Cenric had fallen he wouldn’t blame you, or at least I wouldn’t let him try to go after you. I’d be very upset if you were hurt.’

‘Well thank you.’

‘Let’s head back in. I think there’s going to be some dancing later on.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve never been a good dancer.’

‘Tell me Sir John,’ she said with a faux haughty tone, ‘were you assuming that I was asking you to consider dancing with me?’

‘Oh, erm, well, we were and, erm.’

Sunniva burst out laughing at that moment and I finally caught on to her joke and laughed with her.

‘I wouldn’t turn down a dance, but if it helps, I’m an awful dancer as well.’

‘In that case let’s have one more drink and we can blame our bad dancing on that.’

‘Now that’s a plan.’

When we went back into the hall I found, with no surprise at all, that Richard and Sir Jason had been drawn into the ancient battle known as the drinking contest. Several of the Rohirrim were in it, as well as Prince Legolas and Gimli while Prince Eomer was acting as a judge. Each of the contestants had several empty mugs on the table before them and Jason’s face had started turning red.

‘Good luck,’ I said to Richard and patted him on the shoulder.

In response he looked at the wrong shoulder before shaking his head.

‘Bloody voices,’ he mumbled.

‘How much has he had?’ asked Sunniva.

‘It’s best not to keep count.’

When we found some more ale, Sunniva and I stood by the edge of the area of the hall being cleared for dancing and I spotted my uncle, Gandalf and Aragorn having a discussion on the other side of the hall while Merry and Pippin danced on a table singing a drinking song from their home land, the Shire. It was sometime after that when my memories of that night become rather vague, though I do remember dancing, Richard running out of the hall to vomit and laughing and cheering.

Then I remember waking up with a ringing headache. When my eyes opened, I saw that I was laying on a stone floor. Groaning at both the pain in my head and the stiffness in my joints from where I had passed out, I pushed myself up, only to then immediately fall over. My second attempt to stand up went better and after leaning against the wall for a few minutes to steady myself, I was confident enough to start moving. I was still in the Golden Hall but the main hall was mostly empty, aside from a few men knocked out by the alcohol much like I had been, and Lady Eowyn who was asleep on a large settee by the fire in the middle of the hall. Amongst them I spotted a couple of men from our company, Mathew Fendrel for example was asleep and cradling an empty mug in one corner. It was dark now, the fire and candles had burned down to nothing, and the general cold told me that it was almost certainly night by that point. Thinking that some night air would sober me up, I started towards the doors and opened them as quietly as I could, not wanting to disturb anyone, and stepped into the cool night air. The city of Edoras was quiet and the night sky was cloudy, though the moon could still be seen, and in that moment I truly felt far from home, looking at the moon which is now familiar to me, but not the moon I knew when I looked up at England’s sky, but instead I looked up at the great contraption of Saint Aule. The moon was so similar to the one I knew, but still so strange, the patterns on it being all different.

After standing outside for a moment I suddenly realised I was not alone, also standing by the steps was Prince Legolas, though he had been so still that I hadn’t noticed him.

‘Did you win?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, but I felt slightly off balance for a while afterwards.’

‘I envy you then. I feel like my head’s been trampled. Why was I left on the halls floor?’

‘Theoden King said it wasn’t worth the trouble of moving you and a few of the others.’

Everything was said in a strange manner, as if he was only paying a small amount of attention to me while his eyes gazed out across the plains of Rohan. He did have a strange manner sometimes, as if he was aware of what was going on around him but at the same time could see other things invisible to my mere mortal eyes. Knowing what I do now regarding Elves, it makes complete sense. The doors opened and Lord Aragorn emerged from the hall, looking to be in much better condition than I felt. He began to push some herbs into his pipe when he noticed us.

‘Good evening,’ I said to him.

‘How do you fare, Sir John?’

‘Not too badly, though I fear I drank too much.’

‘An easy mistake we all make. I didn’t get the chance but I wanted to tell you how well I felt you performed at the battle. You fought bravely as the rear-guard at Helm’s Deep.’

‘I was glad to do my duty. Those monsters were the hardest enemy I’ve ever fought against.’

‘Sadly, I think this will not be the last time that you and the rest of your company will play a part in the war.’

‘I was thinking the same.’

‘Aragorn,’ Legolas said, alarm written on his face. ‘The Eye of the Enemy, it is moving.’

His cryptic statement confused me until the Elven prince gasped.

‘He’s here.’

With incredible speed he bolted back into the Golden Hall, Aragorn and I racing after him as I drew my sword. Through alcohol still addled mind I tried to work out what he meant. Was Sauron here? Had he infiltrated the Golden Hall somehow and was ready to strike? Above all, could we defeat him? We burst through a side door of the hall to find a room occupied by many sleeping men, but the most incredible sight was that of Pippin. He was writhing on the floor, his face twisted in agony and terror, as he gripped in his hands a ball of fire. Without wasting a moment, Aragorn leaped forwards and took hold of the ball, only for it to become trapped in his hands.

‘Hold it still!’ I shouted, dropping Alaric and grabbed onto the ball myself, finally pulling it out of his hands.

The ball felt solid like glass and it glowed with unholy fire, at the heart of the flames was a black slit, and eye and I realised with horror that I was looking straight into the Eye of Sauron, the enemy of light, the enemy of God himself, was looking at me. The slit narrowed and I heard it hiss, _Man of England. Erucaunion. Your fate, your worlds fate._

Suddenly I was no longer in Edoras. I was in a city, and all about me I saw death. Thousands of men of women dead, laying in the streets with ugly wounds torn into them. Soldiers marched through the ruins, carrying pikes and some sort of black powder weapons, going into houses and dragging out men, women and children, lining them up and shooting them. Then I saw another place, a battlefield of a valley, men carrying pikes and dressed in red fighting against other men while cavalrymen armed with curved swords and wearing heavy leather coats charged down more soldiers. Another image took shape, a pair of men chained to a wooden stake being burned alive as an angry, bitter looking woman smiled down at them. I was then flying through the sky as a vast fleet beneath me burned, and then I was on another battlefield, watching men trying to storm a breach in a rampart only to be cut to ribbons and then innocent women and their men being driven into a river, drowning as a few survivors were shot as they reached the shore, only for this image to be replaced by one so familiar, Widford Castle in ruins, men in similar clothes to the ones in some of the earlier visions running through it killing everyone in their path, smashing the stain glass window of the chapel, all the while a woman in a cloak stood nearby, weeping. Finally came the last vision, there was a shadowy figure, a rough looking man with warts on his face, a dark woman standing behind him, while he shouted these words.

_‘Upon these barbarous wretches!’_

‘In the name of God you will not win!’ I proclaimed, hoping that the monster could hear me.

Then came a roaring hiss which turned to a scream, catching the last glimpses of images, a group of riders charging down a road before vanishing, suddenly I realised it was us the day we left England. As the last of us rode through a figure ran out of the woods, hooded, and jumped after the last rider before crashing into the ground and looking up, letting out a painful, lonely scream.

I was back in Edoras, my hands were empty and looking straight at me was Gandalf. He had yanked the ball out of my hands before Legolas hurled a heavy cloth over it.

‘FOOL OF A TOOK!’ Gandalf roared at the Hobbit but his face turned to worry when he saw how stunned Pippin looked.

Aragorn crouched next to me while Gandalf went over to the Hobbit.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked me.

‘I’ll live, but, my God.’

‘What’s going on in here?’

It was Father Harold as he walked in followed by my uncle and Lord Robert, all tired and confused as to what was happening while Gandalf kneeled by Pippin, listening to the Hobbit as he explained his own vision.

‘Minas Tirith,’ Gandalf said. ‘Sauron will strike at Minas Tirith next.’

‘And after that,’ I said and everyone looked at me, ‘Sauron will attack England.’

**AN: And so the time to march to war has come again.**


	11. Chapter Eleven: Departure's and Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Harris leaves Edoras while John and Sunniva grow closer...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Eleven

Departures and Meetings

‘After that he showed me his plans for when he’s done with this world. He showed me cities being destroyed, armies fighting, and Widford Castle being destroyed.’

I looked up at everyone gathered in the Golden Hall, listening to what had happened that night when I looked into the Palantir. Theoden King and several of his advisors, Gandalf, the members of the Fellowship of the Ring, as I later learned they were called, as well as the leaders of our company and Richard, were standing in the room listening to me.

‘But I thought you said there may not be a way back,’ said Lord Robert, his eyes fixed on Gandalf.

‘Because I believed there wasn’t but,’ Gandalf seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, ‘but there are rumours that Sauron’s master, Morgoth, the first Dark Lord, had discovered a way long ago. If Sauron knows his masters methods, he could invade your world if Middle Earth falls.’

‘Damn,’ my uncle growled.

‘So there could be a way of forcing Sauron to hand over what he knows,’ Robert suggested.

‘How arrogant are you?’ Father Harold snapped at him. ‘For goodness sake, this is more than just trying to find a way home, it’s about trying to save it, save our world and all of Christendom. If Sauron lives, our world is in danger.’

‘An argument for later,’ my uncle shut them up.

‘Either way,’ said Gandalf, ‘we now know of the enemies plan. Sauron knows that there is still strength amongst the Free People of Middle Earth, and that the Heir of Elindil has come forth. With this, there may yet be enough courage to challenge him so he will stamp out this spark while he still can. He will burn Minas Tirith to the ground before he let’s the Free People unite under the banner of the King of Gondor.’

‘What is Minas Tirith?’ Edmund finally asked.

‘The capital of Gondor,’ Aragorn told him.

‘We can afford to lose one city,’ said Marcus.

‘Not Minas Tirith,’ said Gandalf. ‘It is the greatest beacon of strength left in all the kingdoms of Men. If it falls, the spirit of all who stand against Sauron will be broken forever.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Aragorn. ‘They must be warned.’

‘No Aragorn. Your path is on a different road,’ he then spoke to him quietly so none could hear him before turning to Theoden. ‘If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war.’

‘Tell me,’ the King of Rohan said proudly, ‘why should we come to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?’

The uneasy silence which followed was almost painful, and I looked over to my uncle who appeared to be the only one who was not surprised at the kings declaration.

‘Theoden King,’ Gandalf finally broke the silence, ‘the beacons will be lit and for the sake of all the peoples of this world and perhaps every other world, I hope Rohan does what is right. I will ride for Minas Tirith, and I will not be going alone.’

His eyes fell on Pippin who now looked to be regretting every decision which had led him to that point.

‘Gandalf,’ my uncle spoke up, ‘when will you leave?’

‘In an hour, I need to ready supplies.’

‘Sire,’ my uncle then said to Theoden, ‘at the Battle of Helm’s Deep, my company and I served you well. Now the war has turned south to Gondor, and I believe that should be where we go.’

‘As the leader of your company, that is your right, Baron.’

‘Thank you, my king. Gandalf, wait for two hours. I’ll need to discuss this with the leaders of my company.’

‘Very well.’

After that the leaders of the company went into a side room of the hall to discuss our next move and unfortunately, I was not in that room with them. However, the following is a good approximation of what was discussed. Once everyone sat down my uncle started the discussion.

‘I apologise for making a decision by myself, but I believe I am right.’

‘You want us all to charge into Gondor into another impossible siege?’ Robert asked, incredulous.

‘Yes, and we won the last impossible siege, didn’t we? I think we’re on a winning streak.’

‘We got lucky. If Gandalf had been an hour later, we’d all be dead.’

‘Dead?’ asked Father Harold. ‘Why do you fear death unless your life has been so craven that salvation is impossible for you to achieve?’

‘When I start preaching, Father, feel free to lecture me. While I’m discussing war, don’t lecture me.’

‘What is the matter with you?’ the priest snapped and stood up. ‘Your lands, your titles, what does it matter if Sauron destroys it all? We must fight and we must win!’

‘Sauron might know a way to get back.’

‘You want to make a deal with a monster who sends legions of savage beasts to butcher innocent men and women?’

‘Robert,’ Edmund finally entered the debate, ‘I want to go home too, but we need to decide if that’s worth it.’

‘Your wife is dead, you have nothing to lose by fighting Sauron. God’s Teeth, the wizard just wants to use us as tools in this war, that’s why he didn’t tell us about this Morgoth’s knowledge!’

For a moment Edmund’s face palled before turning red with anger and he was about to shout when Jason banged his fist on the table.

‘I actually do have nothing to lose and I say we fight, but we’re basically mercenaries now, and how do we know that Gondor will accept us into their service? Why should we all go there when we might not be accepted? I say one of us leads half the men to Minas Tirith to make sure we’ll be hired and then the rest of us join them. If we’re not accepted, we regroup back here.’

‘And if Rohan goes to war?’ asked Marcus.

‘We re-enter Theoden’s service.’

‘Am I being ignored completely here?’ Robert asked them.

‘Yes,’ Father Harold flatly responded.

‘So be it. Jason has the best option out of a lot bad options then, but I don’t like this. By doing this, we are condemning ourselves and our men to exile forever in this world, and our loved ones will be doomed to suffer at the hands of Tudor.’

‘If our families are smart, they will submit,’ my uncle told him. ‘I’m not happy about it, but we have no choice. They will keep their lives and hopefully some of their lands. Are we all agreed on Sir Jason’s suggestion?’

They agreed to it and my uncle nodded.

‘Excellent. In that case, I will go to Gondor, and I’ll take our Yoemen and our mercenaries. Sir Jason, will you accompany me?’

‘I’ll be glad to,’ he answered.

‘Marcus, go and tell Richard that he’s coming too.’

‘Of course, father.’

Just over an hour after my uncle looked over the men who would be going with him to Minas Tirith, Thomas and Mathew Fendrel, the latter still dealing with the normal after effects of drinking, Isaac of Wearmouth, Robert of Wessex, Richard of London, Luke Smith, Judah Tyler, Oswald of Jarrow, his music would be missed by those of us who would remain at Edoras, they were all our bowmen. Furthermore, the other yeomen who fought as men at arms accompanied my uncle, Robert of Tynemouth, Edward of Bristol, Samuel of Hereford, Tom of Westmoreland and Edward Johnson. All of our mercenaries in the company accompanied him as well, Sir Jason of course was a part of the group, as well as Richard Bakerson, Thomas Tinker, John Scotson, Daniel of York, Humphrey of Newcastle, Nicholas of Dover and his twin brother William of Dover, Luke of Essex, the foreigner Heinrich of Worms, Edward Carpenter, Edward Edwardson, Wat of Carlisle, William Tyler and Peter of Pevensey. In addition was of course my uncle and Richard. As they lined up outside of the cities stables with their horses, all of them with their armour in large packs on their backs, there was no time for slower pack horses, they would carry everything with them. Granted they were laden down, but they would still move faster. All of their horses in addition seemed to look at Gandalf’s horse, Shadowfax, with awe, and seemed to stand taller in his presence.

‘Good luck,’ Marcus said to his brother and embraced him.

‘I’ll try, but you know me, always getting in trouble.’

We laughed as he said that but then, with absolute seriousness, the two brothers looked at each other.

‘If I don’t survive this, well, I’ll see you in Heaven.’

‘We’ll see you there,’ said Marcus.

‘Just try to stay alive cousin,’ I then added and hugged him. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Bye John.’

‘Marcus,’ my uncle then said to his eldest, ‘be careful while I’m gone.’

‘I understand father.’

‘Good. In that case, let’s go. Riders, mount!’

They all climbed onto their horses while Gandalf helped Pippin onto Shadowfax which they shared for the journey. The line of horses thundered out of Edoras and my cousin and I watched as they journeyed across the open plains of Rohan from the cities walls. When they became little more than small dots on the horizon, we began to walk back up the hill towards the tavern.

‘Are you worried about them?’ I asked Marcus.

‘They’re all good fighters but, I can’t help but be afraid. Do you remember when we were boys and we saw our fathers ride out for battle?’

‘I feel like that again, like a child.’

‘Come on, let’s get some practice in. By the way, have you talked to Sunniva yet?’

‘Not today. Why?’

‘Do you remember much of last night?’

‘I remember Richard vomiting but not much after that.’

‘Oh Lord. John, you kissed Sunniva during the dancing.’

At that I stopped walking and looked at him, a grin on his face.

‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

‘Absolutely not cousin. You kissed her, she kissed you back, you danced some more and then you fell asleep and she went back to her house.’

‘Bloody Hell.’

‘Are you going to talk to her?’

‘Yes,’ I answered and quickly began walking up the hill while Marcus’s laughter chased after me.

Eventually I reached her house and after taking a moment to get my breath back and calm down, I knocked on the door. For a few nervous seconds which felt like hours, I waited until one of Sunniva’s servants opened the door.

‘Good morning Sir John,’ she said and curtsied.

‘Is Sunniva here?’

‘Of course. Please come inside.’

The house was made up of a main living room, four bedrooms and a kitchen at the back of the house. I waited in the living room for a moment until Sunniva emerged from her bedroom with a smile on her face.

‘Hello John,’ she said somewhat nervously.

‘Erm, Sunniva, I, well, I wanted to say I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, about the kiss. Look, we had both had a lot to drink.’

‘Yes I know but I should have behaved properly. Your father asked me to make sure you were kept safe and I failed at that.’

‘Stop being so melodramatic,’ Sunniva told me. ‘Look, it was tiny and we just kissed when we’d had a few, it’s nothing.’

‘I thought you’d be angry with me.’

‘Why would I be? It was just a drunk accident.’

‘Well, good, at least we’re not bothered by it.’

‘Good. So, in that case, we can agree that my father’s request that you keep an eye on me still stands.’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. I’m going to go riding this afternoon and I think you should keep your promise by coming with me.’

I was only slightly taken aback by her request, but I certainly didn’t dislike the idea of spending some more time with Sunniva and testing the limits of my new horse of course.

‘I’d be happy to.’

‘Thank you, John. I’ll see you just after lunch.’

‘I’ll see you then.’

After I left, I thought about how close to a disaster I had just been to. If Sunniva had been less level-headed I would have been in serious trouble and I was grateful for her relaxed attitude about our kiss. I spent the rest of the morning with Marcus at the training grounds, not practicing but watching the companies squires and local boys practice with wooden swords, all the while shouting helpful advice and placing bets on who would win. Father Harold, surprisingly, gave a lot of advice to the young men and boys, even using a wooden sword and demonstrating the art of combat to them, gaining a few questioning looks as to where a priest had learned to use a blade, although his well-spoken manner and excellent literacy suggested he was from a noble family so as a boy he may have learned before becoming a man of the cloth.

I met Sunniva by the stables after we had both eaten and after getting our horses ready, we began our ride. I allowed Sunniva to lead us as we rode across plains of her country. The place was beautiful, reminding me of the moors of Yorkshire and the County of Durham. After we reached a hill from which we could see the ford over the River Snowbourne we stopped for a few minutes to talk.

‘There are few things I love more than riding,’ Sunniva told me.

‘Your people do love horses, it is on your banners and carved on every building.’

‘We’re the Rohirrim, anyone who can’t ride by the time they reach adulthood we think they were born in the wrong kingdom. May I ask, but what is England’s banner?’

‘We change it a lot, depending on the king, but it’s usually showing a red field with a golden lion, though the emblem of the House of York, the rightful rulers of the realm, is a white rose.’

‘Rightful rulers?’

‘It’s a matter up for debate, depending on who you ask. The Houses of York and Lancaster have been fighting over it for a while.’

‘Who was winning when you left?’

‘Lancaster sadly.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Now that I’ve answered your question, could you answer one of mine?’

‘I didn’t realise we were playing that game,’ she chuckled. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Why have you been talking with Father Harold a lot? I don’t want to sound like I’m prying but I’m just curious.’

‘It’s, well. After seeing how fearless he was while we were all huddling in the glittering caves, I have been curious about his, about your beliefs.’

‘You are?’ I asked, surprised.

I had known people over the years who weren’t Christian, to be precise I had met a few Jews, but considering how strong they held their own religion, I was surprised that Sunniva would be so willing to think about the Catholic faith.

‘Yes. After talking to him I think that a lot of it is, well, interesting at least.’

‘I see. You want to convert?’

‘I think I might, but I’m not sure yet.’

‘Alright. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there for you.’

‘Meaning?’

 _What did I mean by that,_ I thought to myself after the words left my mouth.

‘I meant as your friend,’ I quickly answered.

‘As my friend. Of course. Should we keep riding for a while or head back to Edoras?’

‘Whatever you want.’

‘Another half hour,’ she said and pointed to an outcrop by my guess about two thirds of a mile away. ‘I’ll race you there.’

She then sent her horse galloping forwards less than a moment before the words left her mouth, leaving me behind.

‘Cheat!’ I jokingly shouted after her and started in pursuit, the both of us laughing as we rode.

**AN: And the English company is divided as Baron James leads half of his men out towards Gondor while John and Sunniva grow closer in Edoras.**

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you think.**

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	12. Chapter Twelve: The White City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Harris and his men have followed Gandalf to Minas Tirith to enter the service of Lord Denethor of Gondor. However, their time in the White City is short...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

**AN: So where have I been? Basically my computer died on me and at the moment I’m writing this on one I’ve borrowed. I’m sorry this update took so long but it’s here at last. Have a great time folks.**

Chapter Twelve

The White City

As I have said before, in the writing of this account of the War of the Ring from my own perspective, I have often thought about whether or not it is right of me to include the affairs of other parties. However, I have decided that it is best for the sake of making this work as complete as possible to discuss the great feats done by the men who defended Minas Tirith with all they had before the ai of Rohan could come.

The ride from Edoras to Minas Tirith was a hard one, and without a doubt if it had just been Gandalf and Pippin they would have ridden without pause. However, as my uncle and his men were a part of their group, they stopped each night for a few hours. Even with these brief moments of respite, the journey was hard on everyone, my uncle in particular. For a man of his years he was in excellent health but going on these long rides served as a reminder of his age. The journey itself took them along the Great West Road, a name my uncle considered to be ironic as it was little more than a dirt track with the occasional paving stone here and there, still syubbornly clingling into place, refusing to be moved by the ruthless passage of eternity. Many of those men in our company could almost imagine it as it once was, a great example of the skill and ingenuity of the ancient men of Numenor stretching from the far-off north lands and down to Gondor. Now though, it was long abandoned, a tragedy in a way. It was not too different to the old Roman ruins still found in many places across England. Many times my cousins and I with a few other boys would explore the crumbling forts and watch towers, once we even rode along the remains of the mighty wall of Emperor Hadrian in those lands. I remember, during that adventure when I was thirteen years old I stood on the remains of a tower and wept, thinking about how once a mighty empire ruled England, and it fell to never rise again. Was Gondor like that long gone Empire? Was Minas Tirith about to fall as Rome did to the namesake of my sword or as Constantinople to the Turks? As boy I stood on those walls and towers, continuing their vigil long after the men who guarded them had gone. Would boys do the same on the walls of Gondor?

On their first nights rest my uncle got an hours sleep before waking up and seeing that Gandalf was sitting on a rock at the edge of their camp, smoking his pipe.

‘Gandalf,’ my uncle said and sat on another rock next to him.

‘James. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?’

‘I can’t, not when a battle is so near.’

‘There are fewer better times to sleep, you’ll need rest for the fight to come.’

‘I can rest afterwards. I’ve had an hours rest, that’s all I need. I have questions.’

‘Ask if you wish.’

‘What is the political situation in Gondor? Who will we be dealing with? I know that Lord Aragorn is the heir to the throne of Gondor, you said so yourself, so is the leader in Minas Tirith his father?’

‘No. Aragorn is descended of the line of Isildur, who died thousands of years ago. Gondor was then ruled by other dynasties until it’s last king died many years ago. Since then it has been ruled by the Stewards. The current Steward is Denethor.’

‘And what is his character? Is he a good man?’

‘He is dedicated with all his heart to protect his country, but he is arrogant and does not trust me.’

‘Doesn’t he?’

‘He believes I want to use his kingdom as nothing more than a shield without care for the lives of his soldiers.’

‘Do you?’

‘No. I want to see Gondor stand against Mordor, but I will never throw away a life.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Will Denethor accept my and my men’s help?’

‘I see no reason why not, he is outnumbered and as long as you stay away from his politics he should be more than willing to accept you into his service.’

‘Politics,’ my uncle growled. ‘I hate getting involved with politics, being stuck in London with petty little men trying to get attention from the king. Give me twenty good men and a boar to hunt and I’ll be a happy man indeed.’

‘Not one for the politics of court?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘I can’t say I prefer small towns and villages to larger cities as well, though Minas Tirith is a city of men unlike any other.’

‘You know, the strangest thing I’ve found since coming here is the kinship between men by being of the same race. I suppose when you’re beset by Orcs and other monsters it comes naturally.’

‘I suppose so, and that’s why I find it so terrible that so many men have come under the influence of Sauron.’

‘I’m not surprised to be honest. People can terrible things. That’s the other matter I wanted to talk about, though it’s a bit more personal. When we were at Isengard, Saruman said some things about me, things that only I and a handful of people, even my own sons don’t know.’

‘The Palantir.’

‘The glass ball?’

‘Yes. It is capable of showing its user many things, I dare say he could have seen your own past in it.’

‘I see. It’s just, what he saw could get me in a lot of trouble in England.’

‘Why? What is it you did?’

‘You see, King Richard of England, he had enemies, two boys, his nephews, who were declared bastards. Still, the older boy was at one point declared king before being recognised as a bastard.’

‘Did King Richard harm the boys?’

‘I found out that he, or at least one of his supporters, planned to have them killed. Their mother, Elizabeth Woodville, was a friend of my wife so she came to me and asked me to help her. We got the princes away from the castle they were being held at and replaced them with a pair of boys suffering from a coughing sickness who were not long for this world. Only a day after we got the boys out, the replacement boys vanished.’

Gandalf looked at my uncle, astonished at the story.

‘Even after he tried to kill innocent boys, you still served Richard?’

‘England had been bleeding for years Gandalf, and she needs peace. Sometimes even the peace of a tyrant who restricts violence to his enemies is still peace. This was the only bad thing I can say of Richard’s character, he was a great warrior and brave commander, I followed him in battle at Berwick and as Lord of the North of England he served honourably. I’ve had this argument with myself many times Gandalf, and I’ve grown tired of it. I’ve grown tired of wars and battles, and I want to retire from it all.’

‘Do you ever wonder, James, what you would have done if war did not demand your attention?’

A faint smile crossed the old mans face and he sighed.

‘I would have been an architect, in a way I was as well. After my father vanished, management of Widford went to my uncle on my mothers side and he mismanaged everything. When I became a man, I got to work and they were truly the most satisfying years of my life. I built a bridge over the ford, rebuilt my villages walls and designed a new church and tavern for my castle.’

‘You enjoy building things?’

‘I do. Sometimes when I was younger I would just draw out designs in my free time. It was a long time ago. I am a soldier now, Gandalf. My world made me a soldier, and I am good at it.’

‘The battle to come may be the hardest of your life James. Either way, no matter what happens, your father will be proud of you. Now, to prepare for the greatest battle in history, I suggest you get another hours sleep.’

For the rest of the journey there was little conversation amongst the party, riding as fast as they could through Rohan and then they crossed the Mering Stream into Gondor at dawn on the final day of their journey.

‘How much further?’ Oswald shouted from his horse.

‘Not much further, only a few hours.’

‘We’re almost there, boys!’ Jason roared to the cheers of the rest of the men.

Finally they reached the top of a hill and there they encountered a sight which took their breath away.

‘Minas Tirith,’ Gandalf proudly announced. ‘The City of Kings.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ my uncle said when he first saw the white city.

The incredible city before them was unlike any they had ever seen before, made of white stone against the side of a mountain and around an out jutting shoulder of rock,and the whole city was divided into seven levels, each one higher and higher until at its top was a palace and tall tower. The lowest level of the city covered a great area and appeared to be formed up of a complex network of houses and streets, and its outermost wall was made of black stone.

‘I’ve never seen its like before,’ said Jason.

‘A city built in a time of greatness long gone,’ the wizard told them before leading them towards the city.

They rode through Pelennor, that great collection of farms and fields surrounding the city until at least reached the massive iron and wood gates, ornately fashioned to show reliefs of the great heroes of Gondor’s past. Upon reaching the gates they were opened at once as soon as they saw Gandalf, many of the soldiers and people they past in the city cried out one of his many names. Through each level they rode, each level blocked off by a gate, until at last they reached the stone steps leading to the final level. There the stone stairs leading up to the top and the palace there was blocked by a line of soldiers not wearing the plate of the normal soldiers but plate of a quality seen on the finest of knights and with black cloaks.

‘Captain Beregond,’ Gandalf said to the leader of these men.

‘Mithrandir, surely your return to Minas Tirith is a sign that the feared attack of the enemy is nigh.’

‘I’m afraid so. I must speak with the Steward at once.’

‘I understand of course, but I cannot allow so many armed men inside the citadel.’

‘Of course. The Hobbit I ride with shall remain with me, as for Baron James, how many of his companions will you allow with him?’

Beregond looked at my uncle for a moment before deciding.

‘You may bring two guards with you.’

‘Thank you, captain.’

He selected Richard and Thomas Fendrel as his guards while the rest remained at that spot with Sir Jason in command. The group of five were then led up the stairs onto the great courtyard at the top of the city before the doors of the palace. Walking towards the doors they past an ancient white tree which Pippin was excited to see.

‘Gandalf. Gandalf it’s the tree.’

‘Yes Pippin, the White Tree of Gondor, the tree of the King, but Lord Denethor is only a Steward. Pippin, it will be best for you to not say anything to Lord Denethor.’

‘You mean about,’ he didn’t finish the sentence, but the look on his face was one where both he and Gandalf knew what he meant.

‘Yes, and Denethor is Boromir’s father, telling him about his sons death would not be well for us. James, though you hate attending court, surely you know enough of etiquette for meeting the Steward.’

‘Of course.’

‘In that case, let’s go.’

Gandalf led them into the throne room, a large hall of white stone, along each wall were arched alcoves within stood statues of the past kings of Gondor. At the head of the chamber was, on a tall dais of marble, was an ornate throne and at the foot of the steps leading to it was another, more simple chair upon which sat a man with long grey hair who looked as if he hadn’t shaved in several days, draped in a black fur lined robe and clothes of the finest quality. Gandalf was leading the group, with Pippin just behind him and my uncle behind the two of them, flanked by Richard and Thomas, the latter of whom truly felt out of place in such an opulent hall, dressed in his simple clothes and carrying a bow and short falchion instead of the weapons of a knight.

At last they stopped before the smaller throne and bowed.

‘Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor,’ Gandalf addressed him with all the respect a man of his position deserved. ‘I come with tidings in this dark hour.’

‘You come with tidings?’ he asked and revealed in his hands something my uncle thought was strange, a horn, snapped in half, though he did not know of its significance. ‘Perhaps you are here to tell me why my son is dead?’

His voice was shaky and my uncle at once recognised the signs of a once great man on the brink of shattering.

‘Boromir died to save us, my kinsman and me,’ Pippin said and knelt before him. ‘He fell defending us from many foes. I offer you my service, in payment of his debt.’

‘What is your name, Halfling?’

‘Peregrin Took.’

‘Then, Master Took, this is my first command of you. How did you escape when my son did not, when he was such a mighty man?’

‘Even the mightiest of men will fall to an arrow, he had been struck by many.’

The look on the Stewards face was somewhat calmed by this, perhaps knowing that his eldest son died as a hero brought some comfort to him, though his sorrow was evident.

‘Get up,’ Gandalf told the Hobbit, annoyed at him already, before addressing Denethor. ‘My lord, there will be time to grieve for Boromir, but it is not now. War is coming. The enemy is on your doorstep, as Steward you are charged with the defence of this city, where are Gondor’s armies? You are not alone, Theoden is still in Rohan and if you light the beacons he will come, and I have already brought aid to you.’

My uncle knew that his turn to speak had come at last, so he stepped forward and bowed deeply to Denethor.

‘Lord Steward of Gondor, I am James Harris, son of Bartholomew Harris, Baron of Widford. I command a company of well trained and well armed men including many knights, some of which I have brought with me, while the rest wait in Edoras to answer the call to war. We wish to enter your service and fight alongside you in the defence of this city.’

‘Harris,’ he said, thinking on the name. ‘I do recall when I was younger a man by the name of Bartholomew Harris arriving at this city, searching for information. He spent two months looking through every archive and library in the city before leaving, saying he had not found a way home. He was a man who had crossed worlds.’

‘That was my father.’

‘So you found a way to him?’

‘I believed he was dead for many years, until chance brought me and my men here. Learning he still lived was a relief to be sure.’

‘And since arriving you stood to defend Helm’s Deep in service of the King of Rohan. Tell me, why do you still not serve him?’

‘I go where the war needs me.’

‘I see. Tell me, when you defended Helm’s Deep, you also knew of just who you stood alongside?’ he then turned his attention back to Gandalf. ‘Are you arrogant enough, wizard, to believe that the White Tower is blind to your schemes? I know just who rides with Theoden of Rohan, and I will not bow to that ranger from the North, the last vestige of a ragged house long bereft of lordship.’

‘Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king, Steward.’

‘Rule of Gondor is mine, and no others!’ Denethor then snapped at Gandalf who led Pippin out of the hall, before Denethor turned his eyes to my uncle. ‘It is true that I have need of men and I will accept you and your company into my service. I’ll send a messenger to Edoras to summon the rest of your company.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘How many men do you have with you?’

‘Including myself, twenty nine. Eight of them are bowmen and the rest are men at arms.’

‘I wish you brought more with you now.’

‘If you’d refused, I’d hoped to save them the stress of the journey.’

‘I understand. Take some time to rest your men, tell Captain Beregond that you and your company are to be given use of the Green Street Barracks. This afternoon, I want you to lead your men to Osgiliath, the city across from us on the Alduin, my remaining son, Faramir,’ he said the name almost as if it tasted ill on his tongue, ‘is in command. Assist him in the defence of the city.’

‘As you command, my lord.’

My uncle then bowed to him and turned to leave, leading Thomas and Richard with him. As soon as they were outside, my uncle shook his head.

‘Pompous ass,’ he described Denethor.

‘Father?’

‘He saw us arrive with Gandalf and now he’s getting rid of us while still gaining more men for the defence of his city. Clever but stupid at the same time, he’s paranoid.’

He then saw Gandalf and Pippin standing at the edge of the courtyard looking east, so my uncle decided to tell him what he had been ordered to do.

‘Gandalf.’

‘He’s sending you to Osgiliath?’ Gandalf asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘I don’t need my powers to understand the ideas of a paranoid fool. The battle that will decide the fate of Middle Earth will begin soon. Look.’

My uncle followed Gandalf’s pointed finger towards the east where he saw a river and faintly he could make out a city on its banks, and beyond it a land of trees and woods and there, in the distance, a dark line on the horizons, mountains he realised and then remembered a map he had been shown in Edoras.

‘Mordor. The land of our foe.’

‘Do you see the clouds over the mountains?’

‘Just.’

‘Orcs despise the light of day, so Sauron will send forth the clouds to block out the sun. The battle will be fought in darkness.’

‘That may be so, but it will be won by a few brave men. Good luck here, do whatever it takes to light the beacons.’

‘Good luck to you James.’

The two of them shook hands and then went back down to where the rest of the company were waiting, some had struck up conversations with the Royal Guard. As soon as Jason saw my uncle he cleared his throat and got the attention of the men who were silenced.

‘Captain Beregond, the Steward has given my company use of Calen Othrand Street Barracks.’

‘My men will show you the way.’

The barracks in question was a large building, large enough to house two hundred men, but it had clearly not been used in a while. There were beds and straw mattresses, but it was not one of the buildings used by the majority of the garrison. My uncle took up residence in the commanders room on the top floor and was glad to find a cupboard in there to store some items of his, such as the papers he took from Isengard. After that he went downstairs to the mess room where he was glad to see that Denethor had sent a few servants there to prepare some food, a hearty soup containing ham and several types of vegetable, and each man had a large bread roll and some ale. The mess hall itself was large enough for the two hundred men the garrison was meant for, but it felt empty with less than forty men inside. Still, the lunch they had was a welcome one, and as usual, Oswald played on his pipe after wolfing down his soup and bread. After they had eaten, my uncle went to the head of the room with Jason who he nodded at and Jason got a mischievous grin on his face.

‘SHUT UP!’ he roared and in shock Oswald accidently let out a painful screech on his pipe and a moment later everyone else was silenced.

‘Thank you, Sir Jason. Lord Denethor has given us our first duty in the service of Gondor. We are to go to the city of Osgiliath, it is close by, at a hard ride less than an hour by my reckoning. There we will join the defenders under the command of Lord Faramir, Denethor’s son. To save time we will ride in armour, be ready in one hour.’

‘Don’t we even get one good nights sleep?’ asked Peter of Pevensey.

‘No,’ my uncle said shrugged. ‘You have an hour to get ready, though I do say it’s odd that a young man like you Peter complains about our orders when I, a men three times your age, does so with no issue at all.’

That earned Peter a few laughs at his expense, and afterwards no one even grumbled at their predicament.’

They all helped each other put their armour on and prepare their weapons before, in the early afternoon, they stood in the barracks training yard, the building was in the shape of an L with the yard forming a square when combined with the building itself. Before heading to Osgiliath, my uncle decided to inspect the men and altogether he was impressed. Aside from the archers, who universally wore some style of coat of plates, about half of the remaining men at arms were wearing a fair amount of plate. As for weapons, half of them were armed with billhooks of some type, and the rest carried a mix of shields, swords, falchions, axes and spears. While not the best of the company, they were all good fighters.

‘Alright men, mount!’

Each of them climbed onto their horses and rode through the yards gate, into the street where a few passers-by watched them without much interest, my uncle guessed that armed men on the streets was a common sight in times of war. As they at last approached the cities gates, they opened to allow new arrivals to enter the city, my uncle and his men waiting at the side of the square, as a line of two hundred men armed with long axes marched into the city, led by a large, portly man with a long white beard sitting on a strong horse.

‘Forlong!’ the people nearby chanted as he entered. ‘Lord Forlong!’

‘Who are they?’ my uncle asked a local soldier nearby.

‘The men of Lossarnach, and Lord Forlong is the lord of those lands.’

‘And does Lord Forlong have a good reputation?’

‘He’s a veteran warrior and a great commander.’

‘Good.’

When the last of these men arrived my uncle led his men towards the gate and they rode along the road towards the ruined city, soon to enter the next great battle of the War of the Ring.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: The Fall of Osgiliath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in the service of the Steward, James Harris and his men reach Osgiliath to fight the armies of Sauron, not aware of the true horrors awaiting them...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Thirteen

The Fall of Osgiliath

My uncle’s party reached Osgiliath in the early evening as the sun began to set. The outskirts of the devastated city were ringed by a crumbing wall and ruined buildings, many of which had canvases stretched over their long gone roofs and simple wooden structures had been erected in many places to serve as supply storerooms and places for the wounded to be treated. Gondorian soldiers, off duty, my uncle guessed, were sitting around, and in the air the sound of a hammer striking an anvil was ringing loud. After arriving in a large courtyard where a number of horses were kept in pens, my uncle ordered his men to dismount while a group of men walked towards them.

‘Who are you?’ their leader asked them.

He was a tall man with long, light brown hair, wearing a leather jerkin decorated with the emblem of a white tree and an earthen green cloak. While his garb appeared to be that of a poorer soldier he had a bearing and a natural nobility to him he had rarely seen outside of men like Aragorn.

‘James Harris, Baron of Widford, these are my men.’

‘And why are you here, James Harris of Widford?’

‘We recently fought alongside the King of Rohan at Helm’s Deep. We then came here alongside the wizard Gandalf to seek service in Lord Denethor’s forces. He sent us here.’

‘In that case you must speak to me. I am Faramir,’ while at first he had appeared somewhat cautious of them, the mention that they travelled with Gandalf had appeared to earn some trust from him.

The two of them shook hands and the captain of Gondor gave his reinforcements a look over.

‘The quality of your men is fairly good, I’ll give them that.’

‘Thank you, Lord Faramir. Where do you want us?’

‘At the riverside. Madril,’ he turned to a man next to him, wearing similar armour, but much older than Faramir, perhaps serving for the Steward’s son the same role filled by Jason in my uncle’s own group, ‘what’s the state of the Fifth Company?’

‘Down to just seventy men, Captain Cynath has taken over for the time being.’

‘Good, we have a new officer for them.’

‘Faramir?’

‘I need Cynath back with his own company again, he’s one of our best bowmen. James Harris, you are granted the Fifth Company, combined with your own men they’ll be up to full strength again.’

‘Thank you Lord Faramir. Where can I find them?’

‘There’s a ruined theatre by the river where they’re based, just follow this street and at the river head north.’

‘Captain Faramir, our men may object to serving under someone who is not Gondorian.’

‘We are short on manpower, and even shorter on officers and right now I’m in no position to be fussy, and neither are any of our men,’ he then reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a short strip of parchment and a stick of charcoal, quickly writing a message on it. ‘Captain Harris, give this to Captain Cynath and you can take over, he is to then report to his old company.’

‘It will be done.’

My uncle and his men followed Faramir’s directions, passing crumbling statues and ruined buildings, as they went, Richard spotted a statue of a woman clad in ornate robes, the statue was laying on its side and half buried in rubble and what was left had a sword leaning against it. They reached the river to find it had flooded the banks, or the banks had collapsed, my uncle couldn’t be sure, water taking over may of the buildings of what my uncle guessed had once been a beautiful river side. He could almost imagine it as it once was, with shops and taverns lining the riverbank while children played, ships docked and music from dozens of minstrels filled the air. All of that replaced by war.

As they went along, they passed the occasional sentry standing guard at the river until, at last, they reached the theatre. The theatre was surrounded by a crumbling wall, its roof had collapsed, and, once entering through an empty doorway, my uncle was greeted by a large chamber with row upon row of stone benches, each higher than the one before it, and at the front, a space once occupied by a wooden stage, now just a stone floor. Sitting around on the benches were sixty or so Gondorian soldiers who were certainly curious at the new arrivals.

‘Captain Cynath?’ my uncle shouted.

‘That’s me,’ answered a young man with a short beard and dressed in garb similar to Faramir’s. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Orders from Lord Faramir,’ my uncle told him and presented the parchment. ‘I am to take command of the Fifth and you are to report back to your old company.’

Cynath in turn looked flustered at this and after looking at it a few times with a dagger like glare, desperately looking for any discrepancy or other meaning before he relented and let out a long, slow breath.

‘Very well, Captain Harris.’

He was clearly annoyed as he gathered up his sword and bow before leaving, not even looking at my uncle.

‘Cheery fellow,’ Richard joked.

My uncle looked at the Gondorian’s he’d been granted command over and saw them all studying him, wondering what sort of a man had been given command over them.

‘Sir Jason, I want a full kit inspection in five minutes,’ my uncle told him and the old mercenary nodded.

He took in a deep breath before bellowing,

‘YOU HEARD BARON JAMES! KIT INSPECTION IN FIVE MINUTES!’

At once recognising a commanding voice, the Gondorian’s were at once on their feet and grabbed hold of their weapons, pulling on pieces of armour and polishing the occasional dark spot. Soon they were all standing in line at the bottom of the theatre, ready to be inspected.

‘Sir Jason, assign two of our men to guard the door, we were just allowed to stroll in,’ my uncle ordered Jason who put Sir Richard Bakerson and Sir Robert of Tynemouth outside as guards while my uncle inspected the Gondorian soldiers.

They were certainly fine men, each wearing a quality of armour that out classed some knights he’d seen and the level of craftsmanship in each piece of armour was extraordinary for common soldiers. Each breast plate was carved with the tree of Gondor and each helmet had the pattern of wings. Of the Gondorian’s in his company, forty of them were armed with a sword, spear and shield, twenty were bowmen. Given his current force of twenty-nine of the English, including himself, he had eighty-nine men, not a bad force altogether, though he wished he had the entirety of the company with him.

‘You’re a fine collection of men, I’ll give you that. Sir Thomas, take some bowmen and keep an eye on the river. Everyone else, stay ready, just in case.’

As the evening turned to night, my uncle stood on the edge of the theatre’s upper level, looking out over the river with Richard at his side.

‘Just think,’ my cousin said to his father, ‘across that river, there are thousands of Orcs.’

‘Tens of thousands probably,’ my uncle corrected him. ‘It’s strangely peaceful, isn’t?’

‘Don’t you usually call it the calm before the storm?’

‘Yes, I just hope Denethor has enough sense to summon Rohan before the storm breaks.’

‘And I hope that King Theoden isn’t prideful enough to refuse answering.’

‘He will come,’ my uncle told him.

‘But didn’t he say that Rohan owes nothing to Gondor?’

‘I think he was just putting on a show for his nobles,’ my uncle explained to Richard. ‘Look at it from his perspective, he had spent weeks as a near lifeless puppet of Saruman and his hold over his people has never been weaker and Gandalf and the, what was it, fellowship, arrive and start giving orders. A king must remind his people that he is the supreme authority in his lands to maintain control.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I am. Right now I’m more worried about when the enemy attack comes. It will be like the Battle of Saint Alban’s again.’

‘I remember you telling me about that. Didn’t you and Uncle Daniel spend that whole fight pushing up a street?’

‘Hours of just fighting away in a back street. I wish I was with my brother at the second one.’

‘Baron,’ Jason called up from below, ‘a messenger from Lord Faramir. All the captains are to report to his position near the ruined tower by the river at the High Market

‘Then let’s go.’

With him he took Richard and one of the Gondorian soldiers, a man named Finog, as guards, the latter also serving as a guide, and they soon entered Faramir’s command room, a ruined building near a collapsed tower where a large canvas had been used to create a roof. In the middle of the room was a table surrounded by numerous officers. Since arriving, my uncle had noticed that the soldiers in Osgiliath could be grouped into three classes, the new arrivals with clean, shining armour, the veterans of the city, some wearing replacement pieces of leather armour where they had lost plates, and many had holes in their ring mail or wounds, and the third were the Rangers of Ithilien, as my uncle later learned they were called, light soldiers who fought in the forests and woods to the east. They were new arrivals but every man amongst them was a veteran of the battle against Sauron. As my uncle joined the group of commanders, he earned a few curious looks, all curious at this new arrival in their midst whose armour bore a strange symbol.

‘Our new arrival, Baron James Harris of Widford,’ Faramir introduced my uncle to the other officers before he turned his attention to the map which showed Osgiliath and the lands around it. ‘Now, our scouts have not reported no unusual Orc activity to the north and the forces of Mordor across the river have been unusually quiet.’

‘They could be massing for an attack,’ said one officer.

‘That is what we will assume. If a full attack comes, we may not be able to stop it with our current strength if they gain a foot hold, therefore we will stop any attack across the river as soon as it appears. Each company along the river will hold the attacking force until our reserves can arrive to provide support. In the event of the Orc’s breaking through, our forces will withdraw away from the river to this street,’ he pointed at the long street running north to south through the city. ‘It will serve as a marking point for our front line, we cannot afford to get bogged down in a confused street fight. As we withdraw to this street, rangers and specially chosen companies will prepare ambushes and slow down the Orcs as much as they can. By that point it is likely that we will not be able to hold the city and our mission will be to hold for as long as possible to allow the people in Pelennor Fields to reach the safety of Minas Tirith.’

‘If I may speak,’ my uncle said and pointed to the map at the broken bridge. ‘I advise posting some troops at the bridge. It may be torn down but the Orc’s could move a ramp or movable bridge over the gap.’

No one had been expecting the new officer to speak up like that but my uncle knew that he had to make himself a presence amongst them.

‘I doubt the Orc’s have that ability,’ said one of the officers. ‘Most of their constructions and devices are very crude.’

‘They were skilled enough to take the eastern half of this city,’ my uncle told him. ‘At this point, we can’t afford to take risks. I’m not suggesting keeping a whole company there, just a few scouts to let us know if the Orcs try anything and to give us enough time to rush forward reserves.’

‘Captain Faramir,’ another officer suggested, ‘I believe that the Baron has a point, but I would make a different suggestion.’

‘And what is it, Captain Hannastog?’

‘We’ve had three bolt throwers sitting in the storeroom since the battle for the city began, we can put one of them on our side of the bridge. It’s designed for stopping large groups of the enemy in a tight space and I can’t think of a better place for it.’

After a moment of thinking, Faramir nodded.

‘Captain Hannastog, position a bolt thrower on the bridge, take twenty five soldiers with you. If the enemy cross the bridge, hold on until reinforcements arrive.’

‘We will sir.’

After that there was a general discussion on supplies and the other matters of running an army before Faramir ordered everyone back to their positions, except for my uncle who he asked to stay.

‘You were very outspoken for a new officer here.’

He said it in an amused tone which put my uncle at ease.

‘I’ve never cared for courtly niceties, and I can’t think of a worse place for them.’

‘Oh I agree, and your suggestion makes sense. I was considering something like it anyway.’

‘I’m glad we’re intelligent enough to think alike. I’d prefer more men here to be honest though. How large is the garrison? Two thousand, three?’

‘Just over two thousand.’

‘Why haven’t more troops from Minas Tirith been brought here?’

‘My father does not want to risk the safety of the capital.’

My uncle considered his next words carefully.

‘I understand your brother fell not too long ago. I am sorry.’

‘Thank you, though the pain is still close to me.’

‘It never truly goes away, I remember that well enough when my own brother, Daniel, fell in battle.’

‘In that case, I’m sorry we both have to feel such pain.’

‘As am I. I had to take care of Daniel’s son afterwards as well, to be honest, that helped, having something to focus on.’

‘Boromir sadly died without a child.’

‘Shame. Still, we’ve got a war to win, in his name.’

‘In his name. He defended this city from Mordor and swore it would never fall again.’

‘It may fall, but we’ll take it back if it does.’

‘I hope so. Anyway, return to your company.’

‘Yes sir.’

My uncle bowed respectfully and turned to leave before stopping and facing Faramir again.

‘If I may ask, why haven’t the bolt throwers been used more extensively in this battle?’

‘They’re fine weapons in the open field, but in this sort of battle, they’re difficult to use, and Captain Hassastog, he is extremely intelligent and I do not want to speak ill of him, but he’s known to be eccentric.’

‘He is?’

‘He designed those bolt throwers and has spent the last decade trying to make them a core part of the army, hence why he is here so he can’t keep asking the council to make more of them. Please, return to your company.’

‘I’m sorry for taking up time. Farewell, Captain Faramir.’

My uncle left the room where he found Richard and Finog standing guard. The followed my uncle on the way back to the theatre but as they went, they passed a street where my uncle spotted a group of Gondorian soldiers pulling a bolt thrower along the street, led by Captain Hannastog.

‘Captain!’ my uncle said as he approached him.

Hannastog looked up to see my uncle.

‘Harris isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. I just wanted to thank you for speaking in support of me there.’

‘It was no issue at all Harris. We’re all fighting for the same thing, though I was surprised that Lord Denethor and Faramir would allow a mercenary leader into our ranks.’

‘I arrived with Gandalf and I don’t think Lord Denethor wanted the wizard’s friends in the city.’

‘So we’re here for similar reasons, more or less.’

‘Indeed. I heard you designed this device.’

‘Partially, I had the help of a Dwarven engineer. Clever fellows.’

‘How does it work?’

‘The crank here, you turn it to draw back the string and fit in the next bolt, and then you turn it again to shoot the bolt and then you repeat. The box on top can hold fifteen bolts altogether. My idea was for these to be fitted in along a line of infantry to weaken an enemy attack.’

‘A very good design. I hope we can see them put to use; we have three in this city, don’t we?’

‘Three in the city and another two back at Minas Tirith.’

‘Good. Well, I’ve detained you long enough, good luck.’

‘Thank you, Harris.’

By the time my uncle had made it back to the theatre he found Jason barking orders at the men as they practiced drills in the stage area. They Gondorian and English soldiers were mixed together as they practiced marching forwards together. My uncle watched for a moment before stepping forwards and Jason called the men to halt.

‘Good lads these Gondorians,’ Jason told my uncle. ‘If we had a company of them a while ago, we would have thrown back Tudor.’

‘I’m glad you think so. Tell the men to get some rest, the Orc’s have gone quiet, but an attack might come at any time.’

‘Yes sir.’

My uncle went back up to the top of the theatre where Thomas and all the other archers were waiting, looking out towards the river, covered in mist. It was strangely peaceful, though sometimes, peering through the mist, he could just make out movement in the ruined buildings across the river, probably Orc lookouts. Then, just after a group of the armies cooks brought food for the night, it happened. My uncle still stood on the top of the theatre when a beam of powerful green light tore up into the sky, through the clouds, booming with thunder and lightning flashing around it. At once, the whole company was up there alongside my uncle, watching this horrifying display of Mordor’s power.

‘What is that?’ asked Mathew Fendrel.

‘Some act of sorcery,’ Thomas Tinker growled.

‘Whatever it is,’ my uncle said confidently, though in truth he was unnerved by it, ‘we will be ready for it.’

My uncle remained at his spot, looking down at the river. The theatre made an ideal defensive spot, with the building looking out over one of the spots where the city gently rolled down into the river. It got steadily darker and darker, the mist on the river growing thicker.

‘Let me know if you spot anything,’ he said to Thomas as he was about to walk down towards the stage area where Oswald was trying to keep spirits up with a merry tune, though in the atmosphere of the mist and dark, it just felt spooky.

‘Baron,’ Thomas said only a moment later and my uncle was back there at once. ‘I saw something on the river.’

My uncle looked through the mist but with his old eyes he couldn’t spot it.

‘There,’ said a Gondorian archer. ‘A light.’

That’s when my uncle spotted it, heading straight towards them. One light, and then another and another, very faint, and then he made out the shapes, boats.

‘They’re coming,’ my uncle growled and unhooked his helmet from his belt. ‘Archers up top!’ he, as quietly possible, called down to all the other archers.

When he reached the stage, he found his men standing ready at the bottom.

‘The Orc’s are coming. You,’ he pointed at a Gondorian named Linno, ‘get to the reserves and tell them the enemies coming. Move!’

He ran off to carry out his captains orders while my uncle led the rest towards the river, crouching behind a pile of rubble they waited, hearing the oars of the boats splashing the water coming closer and closer. New sounds emerged, grunting, hissing, the unnatural noises made by the Orcs. My uncle was next to Richard and Jason behind the rubble, he first looked at the mercenary and then at his son, nodding to the latter and giving him the faintest grin, before turning his gaze back towards the theatre where, along the roof, he could see the archers crouching.

The boats were coming closer and closer so my uncle decided the time was right. He held up his fist, looking back at the bowmen, and then gestured with hand so Thomas and the others stood up and let loose a volley of arrows. They flew over the heads of the men and a moment later the air was filled with a hissing and moaning from the river as Orcs were struck down and sent to Hell where they belong. A second volley and then a third followed before the sound of boots wading through water replaced the oars and my uncle knew it was time.

‘For God!’ he roared.

‘For Gondor!’ the Gondorian soldiers under his command cheered while the Englishmen repeated my uncle’s battle cry.

They stood atop the row of rubble and the Orcs before them stopped for a moment, not expecting anything ahead of them, but they soon, eager for a chance to spill the blood of heroes, charged. These fiends were not like the Uruk-Hai, broad shouldered and filled with savage strength, these creatures were stooped over, smaller than a man and with twisted features, long, crooked noises, bent pointed ears, snouts and all manner of unnatural bastardisations of life. My uncle didn’t care how hideous, how monstrous, how scary the beasts were, they were his enemies and he would kill them.

With his youngest son at his side, they held their position, parrying sword and war brand, dodging axe and mace and breaking halberds. One Orc he sliced through the thigh for Jason to finish with his bill while Richard used his mace to cave in the skull of an Orc who wore a cowl rather than a helmet. Just after my uncle sliced open the belly of an Orc who wore little armour, and it writhed on the ground, desperately trying to hold in its innards, my uncle saw even more boats coming across the river. This battle had only just begun and it was only a matter of time until a horn was blown for to pull back. Even for the finest armies it is difficult to retreat while under attack and it was only a matter of time until my uncle and cousin were separated.

Richard and about twelve men, five of them English and the rest Gondorian, raced through a street, two dozen Orcs right behind them.

‘We hold here!’ Richard ordered them and readied his mace and shield, his men forming a rough line as the Orcs came closer and closer.

My cousin swung his mace with all his strength into the bare head of an Orc, splattering bone and black blood everywhere before ramming the edge of his shield into the throat of the next beast. It made a pathetic gargling noise as it staged back before being pushed out of the way by his comrades, eager to spill blood. Richard saw one of his men, a Gondorian, fall dead as an Orc bit his throat out, but the best was quickly killed by a billhook. My cousin was then knocked down by an Orc who tackled him, his mace falling from his hand. The Orc held my cousin down by the neck, savage delight and glee in its red eyes. Needing something to fight, he reached out and when he got a hold of something sturdy, he swung it with all its might into the side of the Orcs head. Realising it was a loose cobble stone, Richard quickly finished the Orc off with three smacks with the stone to the head before hurling the cobble at another Orc, striking it between the eyes. He reached for his one handed sword at his belt and parried a blow before slicing at the next Orc before running through another.

‘Sir Richard! Look!’

My cousin followed the yeoman’s pointed hand and saw the bridge, just in view above them, and saw that the gab in it had been covered by some sort of drawbridge and thousands of Orcs were racing across it.

‘Damn!’ Richard cursed as more Orcs appeared in the street, rushing forwards and ready to kill.

Looking for his mace but not being able to spot it, Richard knew they had to run for it.

‘Run!’ he ordered and his men started racing towards the road which Faramir had nominated as a front line.

Elsewhere, my uncle and another group of men were fighting for their lives. His armour and sword were splattered with black blood and he took a moment to lean against a statue of a mounted soldier to catch his breath. The air was roaring with the sounds of battle but in his area it was quiet, for now. Ahead of him the remnants of the Fifth and the Englishmen were catching their breath. Many of the men had been scattered in their retreat and he didn’t know where they were. Thomas Fendrel had earlier led his archers off to act as an independent unit and they hadn’t been seen since. He could only pray that they were alright.

‘Incoming!’ shouted a Gondorian and my uncle put his helmet back on, ready for this.

The men formed a line across the wide street they were in as several dozen Orcs rounded the corner and for a moment they squared off against my uncles men, bearing their fangs and cursing and hissing. My uncle was ready, but then a series of crashes were hard and from around the corner emerged a massive beast, twelve feet tall and covered in grey, leathery skin, a crude iron helmet on its misshapen head and its only clothing was a crude loin cloth, while in its massive hand it carried a hammer the size of a man. As it appeared the Orcs started to laugh madly, egging it on to go forwards.

‘Troll,’ cursed a Gondorian and many of the men began to back away.

‘Stand your ground!’ my uncle roared as he marched forwards, sword ready.

The Orcs, seeing one man walking towards the Troll, started laughing.

‘Let’s ‘ave a show lads!’ their leader jeered, saliva making his words slurred, ready to watch the Troll crush a man.

The beast swung its hammer at my uncles head but he crouched to avoid it and, with all his speed, my uncle swung his blade at the side of the Troll’s knee and sliced hard, cutting halfway through the bone. The beast roared in pain and angrily swung at my uncle who deftly dodged the hammer and the old man struck again, swinging up with his sword so the tip was just able to slice through its neck, blood spraying from the wound. The Troll at last collapsed to the ground, still living but in agony. Taking his chance, my uncle swung his sword, hacking its neck, and again and twice more before the head fell clean from the body. As soon as it stopped twitching, my uncle spun to face the Orcs, stunned that one man could so easily kill a troll. My uncle, knowing he now had the advantage, threw off his helmet and let out a savage shout at the Orcs who started running.

‘We need to move,’ he then said to the men who were just as stunned as the Orcs.

‘We’re cut off,’ Jason told him and pointed behind them where my uncle could see Orcs rushing through the city.

‘Then we fight our way through,’ he answered him and looked into the faces of his men. ‘We go west and we fight our way through, cutting down every Orc in our path. Are you ready?’

‘Yes sir!’ the answered and my uncle held up his sword.

‘For God and Gondor!’

‘For God and Gondor!’ most of the men and even many of the Gondorian soldiers answered before charging west, hoping that they could unite with any other defenders.

As they reached the first of the Orcs, my uncle swung down his sword and with one blow cut an Orc in half from collar bone to groin.

Richard and his men were fighting just as hard, but by that point nay sense of order had collapsed and instead of an army, it was just hundreds of men fighting for their lives as individuals. The battle had been waged for hours and the light of morning was now shining but subdued by the thick, mournful clouds over head. The strap on Richards shield had been broken so he abandoned it earlier, instead he fought as hard as he could with just his sword. While fighting an Orc armed with a hammer, he failed to block a blow and the hammer crashed into the side of Richard’s helmet, sending him to the ground. His head ringing and eyes blurred, Richard tried to crawl away from the beast, but he heard a sword swing and then a gasp as the Orc died.

‘Are you alright?’ a voice asked and Richard’s vision cleared, looking up he saw Faramir with an outstretched hand.

He pulled up Richard who looked around him only for Faramir to lead him at a run, away from the square they were fighting in, Orcs right behind them. Soon they crossed into a narrow alley and once that group of Orcs were in it, twenty rangers leapt out of the ruined buildings on each side and made short work of the Orcs, cutting them all down in moments.

‘Thanks,’ my cousin said to Faramir who at once went back to commanding his men.

‘We can’t hold much longer,’ Madril told his commander.

My uncle then came upon them, every inch of his blade coated in blood, his men following him.

‘Son!’ my uncle shouted when he saw Richard and the two of them quickly embraced. ‘At least you’re alright.’

‘We don’t stand a chance,’ Richard told him. ‘We need to retreat.’

He looked around him and saw many men pulling back, spotting a few of the English archers amongst them already retreating as Faramir sounded the order.

‘Thomas!’ a new call went out and Richard turned to see Mathew Fendrel, his bow missing and a falchion in his hand. ‘Thomas!’

There was no sign of his brother and my uncle rushed over to him.

‘Fendrel! We are leaving!’

‘Not without Thomas.’

‘Would he want you to die here? Come on!’

A terrible screech filled the air and my uncle turned his gaze skyward as Jason came to stand next to him, his face, spattered with blood, turning white with fear.

‘Dragons?’ my uncle gasped.

While in truth they were called Fell Beasts, the Ring Wraiths had descended upon Osgiliath on their monstrous beasts, flying low and plucking men off of buildings, lifting them up and throwing them about.

‘Alright. Now this is ridiculous,’ Jason said, shaking his head and for the first time since they met, he sounded afraid, his voice week and shaky. ‘Orcs, fine, Wargs, fine, Uruk Hai, fine and even living bloody trees, fine. Dragons, damnit this is just wrong!’

A fell beast then dived towards a group of Gondorian soldiers running along a wide street and my uncle recognised Hannastog, his face bloody from a wound in his temple, leading those men. Just before it reached them with its twisted talons, a bodkin arrow struck the Fell Beast in the neck and it reared up, letting out a roar. Both beast and rider turned to face a building close by and to the single archer on top. It was Thomas Fendrel.

‘Thomas, run!’ Mathew shouted, hoping his brother could hear him but the older brother fitted another arrow and kept shooting.

The wraith sent its mount towards the Englishman who shot twice more before he was caught in the monsters jaws and then flung through the air, crashing into the ground with a sickening crunch.

‘Thomas!’ Mathew shouted and without thinking, ran towards his brothers prone form.

‘GET BACK HERE YOU IDIOT!’ Jason shouted.

My uncle at that moment was no longer in Osgiliath, but was again at Tewkesbury, seeing his brother fall dead, and he at once ran after Mathew. He cut down three Orcs while Mathew killed two and knelt next to Thomas who was, somehow, still breathing, though it was barely more than a blood mixed gargle and a dozen bleeding wounds punched through his brigandine.

‘He’s alive!’

‘Drag him out!’ my uncle ordered and only now realising his stupidity, guarded the two brothers, soon joined by Jason and Richard, the three of them striking down Orc after Orc who tried to come close to them.

At last they reached the area at the rear where the horses were waiting and Richard pulled Thomas onto his horse. Each man climbed onto a horse and any who didn’t have one tried to get a ride with someone else, but many were left to run on foot. My uncle mounted his horse and with a wounded ranger holding on behind him, raced out of the city, Orcs scarcely a few yards behind him.

My uncle, being one of the last few men to leave the city, looked over his shoulder to see, to his relief, that the Orcs were not giving chase. The relief was short lived however, as three Fell Beasts rose from the city and descended upon the battered men. Each time they dove out of the dark sky to the column, men and horses were lifted into the sky before being thrown away. With each attack, more and more men were slain and my uncles faith in their chances of escape was almost broken when a beam of divine light struck the monsters. They had to rear away in agony at such majesty and at once my uncle knew who had saved them. Gandalf had rode out of the city and from his staff channelled his power into a light, forcing the wraiths back.

At last, they rode into the city and they were safe. Stopping at the courtyard they were quickly joined by healers and stretchers, my uncle helping the ranger off of the horse and taking him to a healer. Richard meanwhile, helped Thomas down from the horse and laid him onto the ground, but he knew the sad truth. As Mathew knelt next to his brother, his skin pale and no movement or sound passing his lips, the younger brother knew what had happened. He had probably been dead since they started riding. His sobs, agonising, tore across the yard as he held onto his brothers body. My uncle on the other hand went towards Gandalf.

‘Thank you, my friend. Please, give me some good news today.’

‘We were able to light the beacons, now, I must speak with Faramir.’

‘Very well,’ he then turned towards Richard. ‘How’s Thomas?’

‘He didn’t make it.’

‘Damn.’

‘We could have held if we had more men, or we could have evacuated and had more men to defend Minas Tirith,’ Richard said and then angrily looked upwards toward the Tower at the top of the city. ‘We could have held with a better leader.’

‘I agree. Perhaps we need to have a word with the Steward.’

The two men looked at each other, both knowing what my uncle was suggesting, and both knowing how much trouble they would get into for it.

**Osgiliath has fallen and as it falls, James and his men begin to plan for the coming storm of war…**


	14. Chapter Forteen: The Lord Castellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osgiliath has fallen and all know that soon the White City will come under siege. Baron James however is not willing to stand by and wait and is about to take action...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

**AN: As it took ages for me to get the previous chapter out, I decided to post this one sooner than I normally would have. I hope you enjoy it, as this is where things deviate from the books and films the most.**

Chapter Fourteen

The Lord Castellan

In the early evening, my uncle sat by himself at the Green Crown, a tavern in the second highest level of the city, and he looked around at the other officers of the army who had decided to visit the place. It was quiet, the only real noise coming from the taverns musician playing a harp in the corner, though the tune was melancholic. On the table before my uncle was a half empty plate holding selection of cheeses, bread and chicken, he’d eaten half of the meal but thinking about the looming catastrophe ahead, he found his appetite dying. His men were in a sombre mood, they had lost some good men in the fighting and Jason seemed to be shaken to his core by the Fell Beasts. He had ben last seen an hour after arriving back at the city disappearing into his room at the barracks with a cask of ale. The worst part of waiting was the inaction, the lethargy, the fact that no one seemed willing to do anything. This was the Steward’s city and the Steward was just sitting in his hall, mourning his son’s death. My uncle wanted to do more but no one wanted to do anything without the Steward’s permission.

_This is how we will fall, by doing nothing._

My uncle considered leaving the tavern when a new figure, a cloaked one, stepped in through the doors and after scanning the place with his eyes, he spotted my uncle and approached him.

‘May I join you?’ he asked.

‘If you wish.’

The man sat down and removed his hood, my uncle recognising him now.

‘Lord Forlong, how may I help you?’

‘I wanted to meet you, Baron James Harris. I met your father many years ago.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes. He was passing through my lands on the way to Dol Amroth to inspect their libraries. A party of Haradrim were raiding the area so he joined me and my men in battle against them. He was a great warrior. It must have been forty or fifty years ago.’

‘In that case, if you fought alongside my father, I’d like to call you a friend.’

‘You may. I heard about what you did at Osgiliath, a single man on foot killing a troll without help is no small feat.’

‘I don’t know if I was possessed by madness or bravery.’

‘Hopefully bravery, we’ll have need of it in no small amounts soon.’

‘What we need is a plan. All the officers in here are content to just man the walls and hope for the best.’

‘It’s how we fight our wars. Gondor has always fought behind strong stone walls against the hordes of Mordor. I’ve never agreed with the Steward’s lack of action, but he is willing to let us sort it out ourselves.’

‘It won’t be enough. We need someone to tell Denethor that he is going to get us all killed.’

‘He won’t listen to you; he’s never listened to anyone except Boromir. That used to be fine, but he’s aged more than a decade since he died. With his death, I’ve seen the Steward go from a noble but stubborn man to one who’s coming closer and closer to breaking. Before you go any further, I must tell you that it would take a lot for me to say this to his face.’

‘What plans do we have then, for the defence of the city?’

‘Our trebuchets are ready, we’ve already begun taking stock of our supplies for a siege and the veterans have been called to arms.’

‘We need more. Anyway, I have to go to the citadel now. I believe that Denethor wanted to give me my next orders.’

‘I’ll be seeing him later, after lunch of course. I earned my title of the fat and I intend on keeping it.’

‘In that case you can start by finishing mine. My appetite hasn’t been well.’

‘You certainly are a friend,’ he laughed and took the plate.

He let out a good chuckle there and my uncle allowed a smile onto his own face before leaving. Upon arrival at the Citadel he found that Denethor was not on his chair, though a good dozen or so courtiers were present, as well as a few men of the Royal Guard and their captain, Beregond. Soon though my uncle spotted Faramir and Pippin, now wearing a child sized ring maille shirt and a black tabard with a white tree on his chest. Richard was standing with them and the three were laughing from their position at the side of the hall. He approached them but did so quietly, managing to overhear them.

‘Boromir was always the warrior, always the great general. He was the stronger of us.’

‘Perhaps Faramir,’ Richard said to him, ‘but I saw you fighting at Osgiliath. You were a great warrior and commander there. Look at me, compared to my brother, I’m the better fighter but he’s a better leader.’

‘Are you the younger or the older?’ Pippin asked him.

‘Younger than both Marcus and John.’

‘Why didn’t Marcus come to Minas Tirith?’ asked Faramir.

‘My father wanted him back in Edoras to keep an eye on the rest of the company. I’m also the expendable one.’

‘What?’

‘When my father goes off on a mission he usually brings me with him in case we’re all killed, that way the heir who’s been raised for leadership won’t be hurt.’

‘Hardly a fatherly act.’

‘It makes sense. Besides, I’m a good guard for him.’

My uncle silently backed away from them at that point, suddenly feeling awkward, and fortunately, Denethor entered the hall, taking up the place on his chair, and everyone gathered around, waiting for his commands.

‘Let master Peregrin come forwards,’ the Steward commanded.

My uncle watched the Hobbit quickly march towards Denethor, trying to look dignified and not doing too bad a job at it. He then knelt before Denethor who looked down upon his newest servant with an amused look which annoyed by uncle. This Hobbit had offered to serve him yet Denethor saw nothing more than an interesting oddity. Pippin then knelt before Denethor and recited the words he’d been given earlier.

‘Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor. In peace or war, in living or dying. From this hour henceforth, until my lord releases me, or death take me.’

‘And I shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given,’ he then stood up and held out his ringed finger which Pippin kissed, a sign of loyalty to Gondor. ‘Fealty with love, valour with honour, disloyalty with vengeance.’

He said the last words with a glance at Faramir before returning to his chair.

‘My lord,’ my uncle said, hoping to persuade the Steward to do more to defend the city, ‘with Osgiliath in enemy hands, we only have a matter of days until this city comes under attack. I do have some idea though that may give us an edge by improving the fighting abilities of our men.’

‘Indeed Captain Harris, but I feel your suggestions will not be needed.’

‘Not needed?’

‘No. Our current army is strong enough, more than strong enough, and I have more need of your sword arm than your ideas. I’ve heard about how well you fought at Osgiliath, and in recognition you are hereby granted command of the Othram, the outer wall of the city, should we come under attack.’

‘Thank you, my lord, though I insist that we at least follow through with a few ideas.’

‘No. I have full confidence that we can hold this city. My finest son, Boromir, made plans for the defence of Minas Tirith and we shall follow his guidance, even after he was stolen from us.’

‘No, and I do not believe we will come under attack, as Osgiliath shall soon be in our hands again. Boromir long held the outer defences of this city, and my younger son shall retake them.’

‘My lord, Osgiliath is overrun,’ Faramir told his father.

‘No war has ever been fought without risk.’

‘I fear this is too risky,’ my uncle cut in.

‘This not a matter of your concern, Captain of the Othram.’

‘The defence of this city is my business, and we can’t throw away men.’

‘I have made a decision. Farmair, you will lead all our remaining cavalry in an assault on Osgiliath this afternoon, or am I to learn that none of my captains have the courage to do my will?’

My uncle then came to stand next to Richard, spotting his chance.

‘Go to the Green Crown, Lord Forlong should be there, tell him what Denethor is planning.’

‘Yes father,’ he whispered back.

‘And then have Jason get the men ready, if this goes wrong for us, flee the city even if you must abandon me.’

‘But father.’

‘Do as I say.’

The two men looked at each other for a moment before Richard sighed.

‘Very well father.’

He then walked away, as soon as the doors closed behind him he began running, leaving my uncle in the hall without support.

‘Father,’ Faramir said, tears in his eyes, ‘do you wish that the places of my brother and I had been exchanged? Do you wish that I had been the one to ride to Rivendell?’

He did not respond but the look in his eyes was enough to make the answer clear. That was the moment my uncle snapped. _I’m also the expendable one._

‘What pathetic excuse of a father are you?’

His shout echoed around the hall and everyone looked at him, their mouths agape at this foreign warrior insulting the most powerful man in Gondor in his own city.

‘I beg your pardon, Harris.’

‘I don’t treat my sons the same, no parent does, but I love both of them, with all my heart, and if one of them died, I would hold the other all the closer, keep him at my side. I never knew this Boromir, but everyone agrees he was one of the finest generals and warriors this land has ever seen, but if he had a shred of honour in him, he’d be disgusted with you right now. Look at you, dressed in your fancy furs and jewels, when was the last time you bled, used a sword as more than a wall hanger and cut down the enemies of your country? Now you want to do what? Throw your only sons life away in a petty act of spite over a failing that should not even count as a defeat? Yes, he lost Osgiliath, but he led his men through an entire night of slaughter, and I doubt even this Boromir could have held against so many of Mordor’s butchers. It would have taken a million men to defend that city, and yet when we, so outnumbered, retreated, we left ten Orcs dead for each of us who fell. No, we left twenty, perhaps thirty for each of us, and yet you can only see the failings of the son you never cared about. I tell you this, Osgiliath was a battle which our enemies will remember when they come against these walls, and they shall tremble in fear, knowing what they faced at Osgiliath, will be even worse here. We cannot retake Osgiliath, but we can defend this city, and we will defend it, to the last arrow, to the last man. You will not waste lives! You will not murder your own son! You’re not fit to be in charge of this city; I say you’re not fit enough in mind and body to be in charge of a brothel!’

My uncles tirade was of a sort never seen in the throne room of Minas Tirith, and everyone in there looked at him, stunned that anyone could heap such insults at the Steward in front of so many of Gondor’s finest. He spat the last word and the echo danced around the hall for moment after moment before finally fading away. To his credit, Denethor was able to gather his wits again quickly, and sat up in his chair, let out a long, slow breath, and then spoke.

‘Captain Beregond, escort Baron James and his men out of this city, they are no longer needed nor are they welcome.’

‘Beregond, lay a finger on me and you’ll regret it.’

‘Please don’t threaten me in here Baron,’ Beregond said as he walked forwards.

‘Denethor you fool! You now throw away good fighters. Look at this idiot!’

My uncle this time addressed everyone in the hall, my uncle letting out a brief laugh for effect.

‘Is this the man you want in charge? Soldiers of Gondor, I will not leave this city until it is safe, I swear this in the name of almighty God, and I refuse to be thrown out. The only way you will remove me is by killing me,’ he then drew his sword and let it drop to the floor, the blade, still with markings from battle, clattered to the marble below, echoing around the chamber, while my uncle looked straight at Beregond and spread his arms open wide. ‘Soldiers of Gondor, run me through if you will. Come on. I won’t fight.’

Beregond was clearly not happy about this order and he did reach for his sword, though his face was open with how reluctant he felt, and he looked to Steward for orders who said nothing, so taken aback at my uncle’s performance.

‘Will you do as this mad man says?’ my uncle asked the captain who neither drew his sword or took his hand from it.

The seconds passed, one by one, dragging into minutes as my uncle and Lord Denethor glared at each other. Finally they began shouting, their roaring clashed in the hall as the courtiers watched on, stunned, at the display of two men fighting with their words. What brought it to its ultimate end was an even louder noise, the thundering clash of the doors being thrown open as Lord Forlong strode in, annoyance written on his face, two of his men following him. For a man of his age and build, he was surprisingly fast.

‘Lord Denethor, what is going on in here?’

‘This foreigner has insulted me in my own hall and tried to undermine my authority. Now you’re here, please show him out. Captain Beregond, return to your house and do not leave it until you are summoned.’

‘Lord Steward,’ Forlong spoke up. ‘I have never questioned your orders, but as of now, I make this clear. If you want to throw away some of our best soldiers, you’ll do it alone. If you send Lord Faramir out on a fools errand to attack Osgiliath, I am taking my men and going home to defend my own lands.’

 _It worked,_ my uncle thought in triumph.

‘It appears I am surrounded by traitors,’ Denethor hissed.

‘You would have betrayed Gondor by this action. Lord Denethor, I am calling the Royal Council to make you stand down as Steward until this crisis is over.’

Evidently many of the other men in the hall were members of this council, and one by one, just over half of them spoke up in agreement.

‘I am abandoned and alone against Mordor.’

‘Gondor now has a chance,’ my uncle told him. ‘Captain Beregond, please escort Lord Denethor to his chambers, and put a guard on the door.’

‘But Harris.’

‘Do as he said,’ Forlong added and slowly, two of the guards did so, carefully showing him along, out of the hall, the Steward never looking at his son.

When he was gone and the door closed, my uncle at last let out a breath in relief.

‘Thank you for summoning me,’ Forlong said to him.

‘I just remembered what you said. What do we do now?’

‘When the Steward is ordered to stand down,’ one of the council men nearby said as he stepped forwards, ‘the council and any other high officials meet to decide what to do.’

‘We don’t have time for that,’ Forlong reminded them. ‘Mordor is coming.’

‘My lords,’ Faramir said and brought forth his option. ‘There is a law regarding this. In an emergency when the usual laws must be put aside for the sake of the common good of the people, a single man may be granted power over the city, the Lord Castellan of the White Tower.’

‘That title hasn’t been used in centuries,’ one of them spoke up.

‘I know that, Lord Cyllcoth, but this is a crisis.’

‘If it must be used, I nominate Lord Forlong for the position.’

‘That’s illegal,’ the Lord of Lossarnach reminded them. ‘The Lord Castellan cannot be one of the vassal lords of Gondor, lest the power given to them inspire them to act of tyranny.’

‘Then let it be Lord Faramir,’ Cyllcoth suggested.

‘No,’ the man in question answered. ‘The law is clear, and the Lord Castellan cannot be the son of the ruling Steward to prevent a coup, neither can he be from a powerful family of Gondor for the same reason.’

‘Why are so many people banned from the position?’ my uncle asked them.

‘After King Eärnur vanished,’ Faramir began to explain, ‘an officer of the army tried to take the title in a coup. After he was brought down laws were added to the title so no one would be able to use the title for ill again.’

‘Then who?’ asked Cyllcoth. ‘Almost every officer in the city is a highborn noble.’

‘Gandalf?’ my uncle suggested but Cyllcoth shook his head.

‘That would start a riot, people would believe that Denethor’s fears were true and he would use us only as a shield against Mordor.’

‘We need someone,’ my uncle shouted in exasperation and then for a moment he wondered why Forlong, Beregond, Faramir and half the council were looking at him. Then he realised. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Indeed you can’t be,’ said Cylloth. ‘He’s a foreigner, a mercenary captain.’

‘He’s not of a Gondorian house, he’s a capable warrior and a brave man,’ said Faramir.

‘You want to put me in command?’ my uncle asked, still not sure if he believed it.

‘You’re the only option,’ Forlong said with an iron voice and, once seeing most of the council members nodding, looked at Faramir. ‘With your father removed from his position, the responsibilities of Steward fall to you.’

Faramir understood what he meant and cleared his throat.

‘James Harris, Baron of Widford, son of Bartholomew, in the name of the Kingdom of Gondor and with the support of the Royal Council, we offer you the position of Lord Castellan of the White Tower. Do you accept this responsibility in the name of the Valar and swear to put it aside once the danger to this city is passed?’

After a few moments to think my uncle nodded.

‘In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I accept this honour, in defence of Gondor and all the Free People of Middle Earth.’

‘Then hail Harris!’

‘Hail!’ the men around him cheered, with a few exceptions.

Before my uncle could then say something else, the doors opened again and Jason of all people, wearing no armour but his helmet, charged in with his billhook. His eyes were slightly glazed over and was unsteady on his feet.

‘I heard you were in danger!’ he shouted. ‘Why are you all praising him?’

‘I’m now in charge of the city, Sir Jason, now go and tell Richard I’m in charge and that he is in command of the Fifth Company.’

After a few seconds he sighed.

‘Never a dull moment,’ he muttered as he left to do as my uncle commanded.

‘Well, Lord Castellan,’ Cyllcoth said and bowed his head, ‘what is your command?’

‘We prepare. Someone summon Captain Hannastog, I need to see him, and summon the cities guild masters, and Gandalf too.’

‘What for?’ asked Faramir.

‘When Mordor arrives, we’re going to welcome them with a bang.’

…

In the late hours of that night, my uncle, Faramir, Forlong and Gandalf followed Captain Beregond up a flight of stairs in the Citadel. My uncle wore a set of Gondorian clothes and the emblems of office for the Lord Castellan, a scarlet cloak adorned on the back with a golden tower wreathed by seabird wings, a signet ring with the same emblem and in his hand an ivory rod topped by a tiny golden icon of that symbol.

‘Your speech was well received,’ Faramir told him.

‘Good. All the great figures of the city, all of them agreeing to our new emergency laws. I just wish the damn chair was more comfortable.’

My uncle, that evening, had made his first appearance as Lord Castellan in the throne room before the leading people of the city. There he made his intentions clear, that he would enact laws to defend the realm, that every man between the ages of fourteen and sixty five were required to sing up for the defence of the city and numerous other new acts. He had also asked that the women of the city volunteer to help take care of the wounded and make bandages, prepare meals and medicines for the soldiers. What most surprised him was that many of the young noblewomen who were present with their fathers at the address actually stepped forwards from the crowd to volunteer.

At last they reached the top of the stairs where they found a small door made from sturdy oak and reinforced with black iron, and Beregond explained what they were doing there.

‘Lord Denethor in recent months has taken to spending hours alone in here.’

‘What was he doing?’ my uncle asked him. ‘Is this where he snuck his mistress in?’

‘No,’ both Faramir and Beregond snapped at the same time.

‘My father is many things but a womaniser is not one of them,’ Faramir defended his father, even after his cruelty earlier in the day.

‘Forgive me. Anyway, what’s in here?’

‘I’ve had my suspicions for a while.’

He reached into his cloak and withdrew a key, fitted it into the lock and a moment later the click announced that the door was ready to open. Beregond pushed it open and the group of men walked in to find a small room and at its heart a plinth covered by a sheet forming a rounded shape. After a moment, my uncle realised what it was and walked straight ahead, removing the sheet and revealing the Palantir beneath.

‘Be careful,’ Gandalf warned my uncle. ‘Sauron is also in possession of a seeing stone.’

‘You told me they could reveal visions.’

‘They always show the truth, though how they are interpreted can lead to deception.’

‘If my father has been using it, does this mean Sauron has been manipulating him?’ Faramir asked with concern in his voice.

‘Most likely,’ Gandalf explained. ‘It explains why has become so heavily aged in recent times.’

‘We could see his plans,’ my uncle thought aloud and reached his hand towards the polished surface of the stone.

‘No!’ Gandalf shouted but my uncle, tempted by the idea of seeing the enemies schemes, had touched it.

What he saw was strange. A cliff face and three small figures scaling up its side, vast armies of Orcs and men gathering in a blighted land, and lastly, in a lonely cabin in a thick forest, a woman with raven hair and grey eyes sobbing, each cry speaking an eternity of loneliness. Then he saw her pointed ears.

My uncle stepped back and had returned to the room in the Citadel, the other figures looking at him, astonished. He felt ill, as if he’d run a mile after eating a large meal. He couldn’t help it and bent over, coughing up vomit which splattered on the floor, tinted with blood.

‘Don’t do anything that foolish again!’ Gandalf snapped at him.

‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘It’s strange. I saw his armies and something else. There were people, Hobbits I think, climbing up a cliff. Oh that poor woman.’

‘What woman?’ asked Forlong, not for a second noticing the shocked looks on Faramir’s and Gandalf’s faces.

‘I don’t know, an Elf I think. She was crying. It doesn’t matter.’

‘You’re lucky. To use a Palantir without the blood of Númenor in your veins can cause serious harm,’ Gandalf told him.

‘I want this room kept locked,’ my uncle told everyone else. ‘This stone is not to be used.’

‘I agree,’ the wizard nodded and they all left, Beregond locking the door behind him, making mention of sending a man to clean the mess, and my uncle quickly walked to his new quarters in the Citadel, all the while thinking about those eyes.

The woman, he’d seen her before. He was six years old and sick, in his bed and many thought he would die. On the night many thought it would end he’d dreamed of her, of the Witch of Widford. She sang to him, soothing him, and looked on with those eyes. The next morning he was healthy again, this priest and his parents had called it a miracle.

Shaken at the thought and trying to convince himself that he was imagining the link between the two figures, he went to sleep, unable to see anything but those sad grey eyes.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Beacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Edoras the company has waited...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Fifteen

The Beacon

While the last two chapters of this account have been centred on affair’s in Gondor, and while those events are indeed fascinating, it is now time to return to the events which I myself bore witness to in Edoras. In the two days which had passed since my uncle and his men had left with Gandalf we found ourselves with a great deal of spare time, most of which we spent getting ready for the coming battle with Mordor. We repaired the damage done to our armour, we kept our swords cleaned and practiced with our weapons. We also commissioned a banner to be made for our company, not a properly embroidered one due to the lack of time but instead it was a cross of golden coloured cloth sewn onto a black field. The day after my uncle left, Father Harold held a service in the room where we voted on our participation in the war, and we were joined by Sunniva on that day, though she did not take communion but watched and listened. Afterwards, she spoke with Father Harold some more in the tavern downstairs and, though I didn’t join them. Later that afternoon, after a few rounds of sparring with Marcus, Sunniva told me that she wanted to go on another ride before the sun went down. During our ride we talked about how we were brought up, our parents, my cousins, her brother.

That became a routine over the next two days, where in the mornings I and the rest of our company trained while Sunniva had long discussions with Father Harold, and then in the afternoon, I would accompany Sunniva on our rides. We had decided to head back to Edoras but Sunniva noticed her horse was limping slightly so we decided to take a look. I held up the horses leg while Sunniva examined it, she reminded me that she had grown up taking care of horses.

‘She has a bruise,’ Sunniva told me. ‘We must have ridden over a harder stone.’

‘Will she be alright?’

‘With a little rest and a salve, she’ll recover easily. Still, I don’t like the idea of her putting too much pressure on her foot so we’ll have to lead her back slowly.’

‘Damn. It will be dark by then.’

‘Tough luck. Can you lend me your cloak?’

‘What for?’

‘To wrap around her foot, just to keep her safe. I’ll give it back, don’t worry.’

‘Alright then.’

I removed my burgundy cloak and Sunniva carefully wrapped it around the horses lower leg and the underside of the hoof. She then gently patted her horse on the neck before nodding at me, letting me know that I could let the hoof back down to the ground. She tested the weight for a moment before deciding that she could walk.

‘You can ride on Whjagen,’ I told Sunniva, gesturing to my horse. ‘I’ll lead your horse.’

‘You don’t need to shelter me, John. I can walk her.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course, I’m sure. I know my father asked you to keep an eye on me but I’m not weak.’

‘That’s not what I meant; I was just hoping to help you.’

‘I know that but you’re acting like I’m a noble lady who shrieks at the sight of dirt or blood.’

‘I never said you were. Besides, if you were one of them I wouldn’t enjoy riding with you.’

‘Oh?’

‘My uncle tried to introduce me to a few ladies in England but I had a bad habit of scaring them off.’

‘You? Scaring women?’ she then laughed at me. ‘How?’

‘My uncle never liked being at court so he didn’t take me and my cousins very often. It gave a reputation for being a bit rough.’

‘So far you’ve been a perfect gentlemen, while sober at least.’

I felt myself blushing but we both chuckled at the thought of our drunken kiss at the party.

‘I’m glad you think so, the last thing I wanted was to scare you off.’

‘Us Rohirric women are tough enough for a man whose a little rough. I’ll admit I’m no shield maiden but it wouldn’t be easy to scare me off.’

‘Shield maiden?’ I asked her.

‘It’s an old tradition that some of our countries noble women learn how to fight with sword and shield. They only use their skills when all the men are away but when they need to fight they do so with great courage. Lady Eowyn is one herself.’

‘Has she ever had to fight?’

‘No, and I’m glad about it. While the king has always handled the army, Eowyn is usually the one who organises food and charity. If she died, well, I think the spirits of Edoras would be crushed.’

‘Hopefully she won’t have to take up the sword at all. Have you ever thought about learning how to fight? Just if you had to?’

‘I’ll have you know, I’m not an unskilled archer against deer or larger rabbits. Of course I could never match Prince Legolas, or perhaps even, what was his name, Thomas Fender?’

‘Fendrel.’

‘Yes, that’s who I meant. To be honest, I’ve only practiced archery so I could hunt if times were hard, or if wolves were threatening the farm. I was never really interested in it, making mead is my favourite hobby.’

‘My uncle tried to get me and my cousins to learn archery when we were boys. According to the master bowman he hired, we were the worst archers he’s ever seen.’

‘That bad?’

‘I shot him by mistake.’

‘You shot him?’

‘He was wearing a coat of plates at the time, but he was furious. If my father hadn’t been there the man would have beaten my behind raw.’

‘What did your father do?’

‘Well, the archer threatened me and my father walked up to the man and punched him in the jaw, knocked out two of his teeth.’

‘Was your father over protective?’

‘Just a little. You see, I was his second child, before he married my mother he was married to someone else and she died in child birth. My sister, she died only a few days later.’

‘I’m so sorry John, I had no idea.’

‘It happened twenty years before I was born, but something like that, it stayed with him I think. A lot of children do die when they’re that young, but it still hurt him.’

After that the silence between us was awkward for about ten minutes, as we walked, we came closer and closer to Edoras and the sun was going down, it was getting darker and colder, suddenly I was regretting allowing Sunniva’s horse use of my cloak.

‘Sunniva,’ I at last said to her, realising that this would be the best chance to get the main issue off of my mind. ‘This may sound a bit forward but, I wanted to talk about, well, the kiss.’

I thought that Sunniva blushed at the mention of it, though it could have been the cold.

‘I thought you would want to talk about it.’

‘I know we said we’d be able to move past it and it was just a drunk accident, but I’ve been thinking about it, about you a lot.’

She looked at me for a few moments.

‘One of the reasons I’ve been going riding was because I wanted to spend some more time with you. I thought that if we could just ride together as friends it would be fine, but I’ve been thinking about that night a lot.’

‘So, we have a bit of a problem then.’

‘I suppose so. I’ve never felt like this before so I’m not sure what to do.’

We had stopped walking when started talking about this and as I looked at her eyes at that moment, something took over me and I kissed Sunniva. After a moment I started to panic but then I felt Sunniva’s arms wrap around the back of my neck she returned my kiss. I’m not sure how long we remained like that but when we broke the kiss, we looked at each other for a moment before laughing.

‘Now we’ve got an even bigger problem,’ she chucked.

‘I suppose we do. I really shouldn’t have done that, I mean, I could be going to war again soon.’

‘Then now’s the time to say anything you might not get to say again.’

At that moment I came up with a comment which, looking back now, I physically cringe at.

‘I can think of something more productive than talking.’

I kissed Sunniva again and after a while, when it started to get far too cold to stay outside of the city, we ended it and hurried back to the city as fast as we could, passing through the gates by the time the moon began to shine. We arrived at the stables to find that the cities horse doctor was still awake, checking on a pregnant horse, when we arrived and after telling him about the bruise, he took care of the matter, letting us leave. I walked with Sunniva towards her house and once outside, we shared a last few words.

‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘See you then John. Goodnight.’

After checking to make sure no one was watching, I gave Sunniva another quick kiss on the lips before leaving. I admittedly didn’t go straight towards the tavern where I and the other English had been sleeping since we arrived, but instead I walked alone through Edoras for a while, trying to clear my head. In a way, by kissing Sunniva, and telling her how I felt, I had crossed a line and I needed to decide what to do. Yes, over the past few days I had been falling in love with her but by kissing her without the excuse of ale, we had to decide together what to do next. If we stayed together, I would need to find a way to support her, of course I could become a soldier for Theoden, in the war his Royal Guard had lost a number of men and I knew that they would need to start recruiting. I certainly had the skills for that.

Then there was the matter of her faith. She was not a Christian and I couldn’t marry a woman who was not one of us, though in recent days it was becoming apparent that she was giving real thought to accepting the word of God.

 _Why is this so complex?_ I thought to myself. I also realised that perhaps it wouldn’t matter in the end. The call to war could come at any time and I would again have to take up the sword and fight against Mordor. Eventually my walking took me to the steps of the Golden Hall and judging by the light coming through the doors, Theoden was either eating with his niece and nephew or holding a late-night meeting with his advisors. I decided then that I was going to head to the tavern and eat and drink with the rest of the company before going to bed, but as I walked along, my name was called.

‘Sir John.’

I turned to see the voice was Aragorn’s, and he was sitting against a house wall, smoking his pipe.

‘Lord Aragorn. Why are you out on a cold night?

‘Watching for the beacon,’ he answered and pointed up towards one of the mountains. ‘If the beacon is lit, the king must be told.’

‘If he agrees to go to war, will you ride with him?’

‘Of course, I will, and if he doesn’t, I will ride alone if I must.’

‘My companies leaders have agreed to ride as well. I’d rather have Rohan’s army riding with us though.’

‘As would I.’

‘Does Gondor have any hope alone?’

‘I doubt it, but we have to fight just for the chance of victory.’

‘Miracles have happened I suppose.’

‘I spotted you and Lady Sunniva as you were taking her back to her house,’ he told me.

‘So you saw me kiss her?’

‘I did, and you ought to know that Gimli and a few of your companies men had a bet on when you’d kiss her again.’

‘They were? Who’s the winner?’

‘Sir Henry Spring I think.’

‘Good for him.’

‘If you’d waited another day, the winner would have been Gimli. Congratulations anyway, she is a beautiful woman.’

‘I know she is, but I’m not sure if it will last.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t have anything to offer her, no lands, no prospects. How could I go further with her if I couldn’t provide for her?’

‘Men and women have wedded with even less. If you care about Sunniva then you would do as your heart says.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘When you care about someone, it never is. I know you’ll do the right thing for both of you.’

‘I bloody hope I do. Good night.’

‘Good night.’

…

The next morning, after breakfast, I looked over the busy tavern room to see Father Harold sitting by himself in the corner, unusual since often he and Sunniva had been spending their mornings in deep discussions. After a few moments of thinking it over, I decided to talk to him.

‘Are you alright Father?’ I asked him.

He physically shook slightly and looked up at me.

‘I’m sorry John, I didn’t see you there.’

‘No I’m sorry. I just wanted to check if you were alright.’

‘I’m fine my friend, I’m fine, I just didn’t sleep very well last night.’

‘Was it something you ate?’

‘Perhaps, it was just a strange dream. I’d rather not speak about it, but still, thank you for offering help.’

‘You’re welcome Father.’

Not wanting to bother him further, I decided I’d head outside and check on my horse before training with Marcus. However, just before I reached the door, Sunniva walked in and smiled as soon as she saw me.

‘Morning John.’

‘Good morning.’

‘I would have been here sooner, but my father and brother just arrived at the city,’ presumably she then saw the colour drain from my face. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll talk to them gently, explain everything, and then run very fast if Cenric gets his axe out.’

‘I’ll be the one who has to run though.’

She gently elbowed me with a grin on her face.

‘I’ll just go and tell Father Harold I that I won’t be able to talk to him today. Just wait here a moment, alright.’

‘Alright.’

I watched her cross the room towards Father Harold, all the while I wished that I could have some advice, and once again I wished that my father was still alive to give me some guidance. His and my mother’s match was a love one, unusual all things considered, and they even believed that she was unable to have children, so I was a welcome surprise to everyone. At last Sunniva returned and, hand in hand, we left the tavern to walk towards her house.

‘So, we tell him that we have decided to start courting?’ I asked her.

‘Courting? You don’t need to sound so formal.’

‘I just want to make sure he knows I’m being respectful and well behaved.’

‘If you weren’t being well behaved, we would have a problem.’

‘Sunniva,’ I chuckled.

We at last reached their house and we took one last look at each other before going in. Then, just before Sunniva opened the door, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something change. I looked up to the mountain top and there I saw a flame burning bright.

‘Look,’ I said and pointed it out to Sunniva.

‘The beacon,’ she gasped and then ran into her house. ‘Father! The beacon’s been lit!’

A moment later, Cerdic emerged and he looked up to the mountain top, nodding slowly, and then he looked at me.

‘We’d better get up to the Medusald. Cenric,’ he shouted back into the house, ‘stay in the house with your sister.’

‘Yes father.’

I looked back at Sunniva, standing at the door way and she shrugged before I and Cerdic walked up the hill, going up the steps just as we spotted Lord Aragorn rushing in. We followed him, I spotted many of Theoden’s courtiers standing there, as was Marcus, Robert and Edmund, everyone looking at the king who was silent.

‘Rohan will answer,’ he declared. ‘Muster the Rohirrim!’

At that there was a flurry of activity as courtiers went to get their armour and supplies ready, while Marcus hurried over to me.

‘John! Go get the men ready!’

‘Of course,’ I answered and raced down the hill towards the training yard first where a dozen or so knights and the squires were practicing. ‘Prepare to ride! We’re going to Gondor!’ I shouted and then went to the tavern. Upon entering I saw many of the men there either having a late breakfast or playing dice. ‘The beacon’s are lit! We ride for Gondor!’

I shouted it and everyone looked at me for a moment, before everyone was on their fleet, hurrying up stairs to get their weapons and equipment ready, and at his chair I saw Father Harold begin to pray.

Not long afterwards, Robert and Marcus arrived and gave us further orders from the king, that we were to ride as light as possible so there was going to be no time for slower baggage horses, we’d have to carry our weapons, food and armour ourselves, aside from a few designated for tents. Upon that order I went up to the large room where the company had been staying, and I, along with everyone else, started to pack my few belongings, such as a change of clothes and my maille shirt, as well as food, such as bread, dried fruit and salted beef. After that I began to put on my armour, with the assistance of Marcus whom I also helped with. While it would be a bit harder on us to ride in our armour, it would be safer in case of an ambush and it was less space in our bags. Furthermore, it is easier to wear armour than to carry it, as I learned when I was nineteen when my cousins and I made a challenge to carry a sack with a maille shirt in it over the distance of a mile. Our shoulders were in agony for the next week and my uncle just said it would teach us to not do something that stupid again. I feel it should be mentioned that Richard won that competition, getting to the end point first, though he did fall over as soon as he made it.

Once fully armoured, with my sword at my belt and pole axe in my hand, I stepped outside to get my horse from the stables. The city was a flurry of activity, all of Eomer’s men who had come to our aid at Helm’s Deep had been stationed at Edoras since then, and all of them were getting ready, checking their horses and armour and lining up in the Eored’s as their officers inspected them. At the stables I led Whjagen out of his stall, just as Sunniva, following Lady Eowyn, entered, and the two women went to their horses.

‘Has your horse recovered?’ I asked her.

‘I checked this morning and she’s not limping anymore. I think she’ll be fine.’

‘Where are you riding?’

‘To the encampment, Sir John,’ Lady Eowyn answered my question. ‘Amongst our traditions, the ladies of the court go there to say farewell to the men, and Reeve Cerdic persuaded my uncle to allow Sunniva to serve as my hand maid there.’

‘I’ll do my best, Lady Eowyn,’ Sunniva told her.

‘I’m sure you will, but I’m not bringing any elaborate gowns with me. It’s a simple enough duty.’

‘If I may ask,’ I said to Lady Eowyn, ‘where is the encampment going to be?’

‘At a place called Dunharrow which we’ll reach tomorrow evening. We will, I mean, you will ride for Gondor in three days.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

After Eowyn had sorted out her horse, she led it away and Sunniva came over to me, thanks to the general noise of the stables, no one overheard us.

‘I never got to tell my father.’

‘We’ll tell him later, don’t worry.’

‘Of course we will, it’s just, he’s been given command of an Eored and he’ll have a lot to do. I don’t want to get in the way.’

‘We have to tell him. It’s the honourable thing to do.’

‘Alright. When we get to Dunharrow, we’ll tell him.’

After leading our horses outside we found ourselves amongst a massive collection of armed men, soon I found myself with the company, all of us, nervous and eager, were waiting, until Robert rode to our head.

‘My friends, I’ve made no secret that I’ve disagreed with Baron James’s decisions, but we agreed to fight together, and we will fight together. We will ride for Rohan, for Gondor and for the Lord our God and may none of us no fear!’

We let out a short cheer and then Theoden emerged on his horse and led us out of the city, riding towards the war.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: The Swan Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Minas Tirith, the new Lord Castellan has begun to prepare for the battle against Mordor, new weapons being made and mobilizing the people for the fight of their lives as a new figure arrives in the city...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Sixteen

The Swan Prince

Within an hour of his taking over the position, my uncle flew into a flurry of action, using all the powers that the officer of Castellan granted him. The news was received by the people of Minas Tirith with a mix of surprise and curiosity at this foreigner who had been given their city. As for my uncle, he read through the laws regarding the office of Lord Castellan and he was shocked at just how much power he now had, far more extensive than any king or Steward, which made sense as it was an emergency role, but then again Gondor’s rulers had much more authority than England’s monarchs, thanks to the fact they didn’t have Parliament to keep them in check. Of that my uncle had some mixed feelings, but it was an issue for another time, and for now he would use his newfound powers to prepare the city for one of the most brutal battle’s seen in millennia. On the second day after the beacons were lit, my uncle stood in the throne room, dealing with the latest issue to come from his preparations. He had meeting with one of the cities guild masters, looking at one of the ideas he had come up with. Also present were Jason and Gandalf, with Pippin as usual shadowing him. The guild master, a man named Herinc, held in his hands my uncle’s design, a simple iron dart with a wooden handle, bringing it to a length of about eight inches. My uncle took it in hand and the dart had a satisfying weight to it.

‘Excellent. How many can we make?’

‘If the attack comes when we believe it will, we should have five for every man in the garrison.’

‘Good. We need every advantage. When the fight comes, our men will throw these at the enemy, giving us just a bit more of an edge over the Orcs. Thank you Herinc, your men have done well.’

‘They make me proud, Lord Castellan. I’ll take my leave.’

‘Very well.’

After he left my uncle sighed and sat down on the oak chair which had been brought in there for him, so he wouldn’t sit on the Steward’s chair.

‘I think it’s time for lunch,’ Pippin offered.

‘Good. I could do with some food.’

My uncle, Gandalf and Pippin walked into a side chamber which had been set for a meal, with various fruits, bread and meat spread out for them, Lord Forlong joined them almost at once, and they discussed the matters of the defence over lunch.

‘Your son’s handling the levees well,’ Forlong told my uncle. ‘When your order to conscript all the men for the defence, a lot of men over the age you asked for came to volunteer, and hundred’s of women have turned up.’

‘They have?’ my uncle was surprised at the numbers.

‘It’s getting hard to find jobs for them all,’ he explained.

‘Very good. What about Captain Hannastog? How is his project going?’

‘He sent up a messenger to say they’re making progress,’ Forlong explained. ‘He’ll have a prototype ready sometime this afternoon.’

‘Fantastic. I didn’t expect how skilled the smiths of Gondor are.’

‘Our power may be lesser than in our glory days, but we are still strong.’

‘Just what do you have Captain Hannastog working away at?’ Gandalf asked him.

‘A new weapon,’ my uncle explained.

‘Would you care to describe it?’

‘It’s better demonstrated, which reminds me, how are the alchemist guild’s doing?’

‘They’ve finished the first batch of powder,’ answered Forlong.

‘Powder?’ asked Gandalf.

‘It works with the weapons we’re building. It’s a mix of saltpetre, charcoal and sulphur.’

At the description Gandalf’s eyebrows furrowed, apparently in recognition.

‘It sounds similar to the formula used to make fireworks.’

‘In that case you’re familiar with what I have in mind.’

‘Fireworks won’t stop the armies of Mordor.’

‘We’re not making fireworks. When the prototype’s ready, I’ll show you what we have in mind.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘Shame,’ said Pippin. ‘I wouldn’t mind a good firework show.’

‘Peregrin Took,’ Gandalf said with good humour, ‘why would I ever let you near a firework again?’

He in turn smiled sheepishly and my uncle made a note to ask Gandalf about that incident later. He was about to continue eating when Jason entered the room.

‘Lord Castellan,’ he said, addressing his commander with the proper title, suggesting that something important was happening. ‘There’s a man here to see you, he has a complaint against you.’

‘Against me?’ my uncle asked.

‘Aye. Do you want to see him?’

‘Very well. I’ll speak to him.’

He stood up and left the room, striding into the throne room where he saw Lord Cylcoth standing there, clearly annoyed, and next to him was a ranger, my uncle recognised him as Cynath, the former commander of the Fifth Company.

‘Lord Cylcoth. How can I help you?’

‘Baron James, I demand that you release my daughter.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘My daughter ran off and volunteered to help prepare meals for the army, and I want her to return to her home at once.’

My uncle looked at him, puzzled for a few seconds before shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry, Lord Cylcoth, but I will not. She is clearly a patriot of Gondor and it will be dishonourable to ask her to stand aside as her comrades continue their duties.’

‘She is a noble lady of Gondor, it’s just not suitable for her to work with those washerwomen and servants.’

‘She has already volunteered, and I will not remove her from her position.’

‘My sister is a lady! She is not going to work as a servant!’ Cynath snapped at my uncle.

He now realised the relationship, now it was pointed out he could see the resemblance. At that point my uncle was beyond caring so he went straight to the throat.

‘If our men fail to defend this city, what will happen?’

‘The city will fall,’ answered Cynath.

‘It will be sacked. Do you know what happens when a city is sacked? Do you know what happens to women when a city is sacked?’

‘How dare you?’ Cylcoth growled.

‘I need everyone ready to fight or support the men of this city. She is helping to feed the army and by doing so she is protecting herself. That’s more than you are doing right now.’

‘What?’

‘Upon assuming the title of Lord Castellan I ordered that all men between the ages of fourteen and sixty five years are to report for duty. You are sixty four years old, Lord Cylcoth, and you did not report for duty!’

‘I assumed that rule was only for the commoners.’

‘It was for everyone. Cylcoth, you will report for duty, we’ve already arranged for a company of veterans to have you as a commander. Furthermore, isn’t your house next to the Houses of Healing?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, very afraid now.

‘An hour ago I issued orders for the surrounding properties around the Houses of Healing to be turned into emergency hospitals for the wounded. Your house is one of them.’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘Are disobeying the orders of your Lord Castellan?’

‘You are a foreign mercenary.’

‘I am Lord Castellan of the White Tower and you will either obey my commands or be imprisoned as a traitor to Gondor.’

At this threat the colour drained from Cylcoth’s face and he let out a low, steadying breath.

‘No, Lord Castellan, that will not be necessary. I will report for duty.’

‘Good. If that’s all, I have matters to attend to.’

The two men bowed before leaving, once the doors shut Jason let out a laugh.

‘You enjoyed that.’

‘By God I did.’

My uncle went back to his meal, the others clearly having heard what he said and watching him as he sat back down.

‘Baron,’ Pippin spoke up, nervously. ‘If you don’t trust Lord Cylcoth, why have you given him a company?’

My uncle smiled at the innocence of the Hobbit and for a moment he regretted that he would soon be put through the horrors of war.

‘I’ve never believed in holding grudges, Master Took. If I threw him in a cell, which I’m allowed to do as he disobeyed my command, I’d have an enemy to deal with once this war is over. I’ve given him a company of men and I intend on having his men fight in a position of honour where he can win glory, fighting alongside me.’

‘Where are you putting him?’ asked Forlong.

‘The gate barricade.’

‘If the gate’s breached, that will be the heart of the fighting.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘And you will be fighting there?’ asked Gandalf, seeing what my uncle was getting too, Forlong as well, though Pippin was still a bit confused.

‘Cylcoth is a prideful man, and the last thing he’ll do is retreat when I’m fighting right next to him. It won’t look good.’

‘Ahh,’ said Pippin, now seeing what he meant.

‘Now, Forlong my friend, how many men do we have?’

‘We have the city’s garrison, that’s three thousand men, the survivors from Osgiliath, that’s another three hundred, your men of course and mine. After you ordered the men and boys to arms, we have another five thousand ready for battle, mostly veterans and men in their prime. The rest, another ten thousand, I wouldn’t trust them in a battle.’

‘They won’t be in the fighting, I assure you of that. The younger and more agile boys will be used as runners between the commanders, others will help carry off the wounded, bring forth fresh arrows, things like that. They will still be issued with weapons and receive some training. Still, I don’t like how badly we are outnumbered. Faramir said his few scouts left across the river have come back, and it appears a quarter of a million are coming at us. If Rohan fails to arrive, we’re doomed.’

In public my uncle had acted and spoken with confidence but in private, he could be truthful.

‘How will we deal with the Nazgul?’ asked Gandalf. ‘I hope you have a plan.’

‘I’ve had Faramir select the best archers in the city. They will take up positions in towers in each level and take shots at the beasts as they fly in.’

My uncle saw Pippin having a thinking look on his face.

‘Master Hobbit, you have dealt with the Wraith’s haven’t you? If you have advice, please offer it.’

‘I know they don’t like fire and I was going to say the archers could use fire arrows but, well, we’d just burn the city down doing that.’

‘You are correct. If we had more time, we could come up with something better than just archers. Anyway, I’ll be inspecting the barricades after we’ve eaten, and then I’ll inspect some of the veterans and visit the ladies who’ve volunteered for the cause. Soldier’s need to see their leaders.’

After their lunch, as my uncle said, he rode with Jason down through the city where, the lower they got, the more obvious signs of preparations could be found. In many places the paths leading to back alleys and side streets had been sealed off with large piles of broken masonry, and in the third level they encountered a barricade, half completed. It stretched across the street, except for the sides which wouldn’t be covered until the men had withdrawn behind it. My uncle nodded in acknowledgement as he rode past the men working on the barricade before continuing to the second level where they found completed barricades every fifty yards along the road. Every side street had been sealed off, the material coming from empty houses in the first level which my uncle had ordered to be collapsed. The last thing he wanted was a confused street fight like in Osgiliath where it would be impossible to form a line.

‘I hope we’ve not wasted time,’ said Jason. ‘I’ve had a few town fights but I’ve never seen something this extreme.’

‘Mordor’s advantage is in their numbers, and if we get drawn into a thousand street fights we’ll be overwhelmed. Now there is one way for them to attack and one way only. They can now only come from the front and they’ll be turned to mincemeat on our swords.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘Do you love fighting, Jason?’

‘It’s what I’m good at. I never really thought about doing anything else.’

‘But if you had a chance to be a peaceful man, to have a farm, would you take it?’

For a few moments, Jason was silent before shrugging.

‘Baron, you don’t know much about me do you?’

‘Not really, I know you’re a seasoned fighter, I know you fought in many battles, and I had a good feeling about you, that’s why I’ve put so much trust in you.’

‘And I’m grateful for that, but you still don’t know much about me. My mother was a whore and the list on who my father might be is ten miles long. When I was about thirteen our village was visited by a passing knight and his men. I was sick of being the son of the local whore and I asked to join the knights men. He laughed but since I was big for my age he let me prove myself. I had to fist fight the knights squire, I lost but the knight saw I was strong enough to help him. I left that day, I never even said goodbye to my mother.’

‘You didn’t?’ my uncle asked, shocked at such a callous lack of feeling.

‘Just the way things were, she was probably going to throw me out soon anyway. I cleaned the knights armour, tended his horse and was his servant for a year, all the while his men taught me to fight. I must have been seventeen when I left his service, struck out on my own, sleeping in ditches, working as a guard or hired muscle. I went to Ireland, Scotland and Normandy in my travels. When the wars started, I was at Saint Albans too.’

‘You never said.’

‘It’s not a nice memory. In the fighting I came face to face with a man in livery I knew, the knight who took me away from home, and he was on the other side of the battle lines,’ he reached for his belt where an old looking dagger sat in a sheath and he drew it, the weathered, pitted blade still sharp. ‘I killed with this, three blows to the neck, his blood got all over my face. I tried to become a farmer after that, tried to settle down, I wasn’t getting any younger, but I just couldn’t. Every time I picked up a tool, I’d try to work out how to kill with it, whenever I struck the soil, I could feel flesh tearing, sometimes when it rained, I felt the blood splattering on me again. I can’t stop being a soldier sir. It’s too late for me to be anything else. I don’t regret my life, but I’m a soldier and I don’t care how I die as long as it’s a soldier’s death.’

Every word was true, and my uncle pitied Jason at that moment. He had chosen his path in life and he clearly didn’t regret it, but a part of him was sorry that his path had led him so far that there was no way back for him.

‘We didn’t meet until the battle against Tudor, but if we had met before then, I’d have made you a master at arms at Widford.’

‘Thank you, Baron.’

The first level was much like the upper levels, the side streets sealed off and barricades every fifty yards. The barricades were made from a core of boxes filled with gravel and sand and made into one solid thing by a layer of wicker and wooden planks. Each of them came to about the midriff on an average man, giving enough room to crouch behind from arrows. At last they reached the gates where the most complex of the barricades were still being constructed. The large plaza had been turned into a fortress in and of itself, with a V shaped rampart being built, with each arm reaching the sides of the gate. The barricades did not touch the wall in those places, there was still a slim chance of more reinforcements coming in and my uncle needed them to be let in easily. When the siege was to begin, these gaps would be filled in by crates of gavel, a potential weakness but only a small one. These barricades were altogether five feet high, creating a large space from which bowmen could easily shoot down at the Orcs and spearmen could thrust at the enemy. My uncle dismounted from his horse and, followed by Jason, stepped up onto one of the completed areas of the barricade. The platform atop the barricade was just wide enough for three men to stand, though it would be tight, aside from six spots along it where the platform became much wider. Two of those spots were occupied by bolt throwers my uncle ordered to be brought out of storage. As for the other four spots, they were for my uncle’s weapons.

‘I almost pity the Orc’s,’ said Jason. ‘They’ll have nowhere to cower, they’ll be shredded in here.’

‘Good.’

‘I’m just worried about trolls. It won’t be easy but they could break through the barricades.’

‘Then we’ll just kill the trolls,’ my uncle answered him loudly. ‘I already did. Are you men up for that?’ he shouted that to the soldiers nearby who responded with a cheer.

My uncles guess was that the gate barricades would be complete by the time Mordor’s attack would come. As for his plan, it was to hold the walls and gate, if the gate was breached then they would hold the Orcs at the barricade, if the barricade fell, then they would withdraw to the next one, and then the next until reinforcements arrived. For his long-term plan, hopefully Aragorn arriving and fighting alongside Theoden to save the city would win over the support of the people so he wouldn’t need to worry about Denethor again, however, that was another matter, an issue for another day.

The schedule for my uncle went on, he inspected a group of the veterans wearing old armour and using the weapons they kept upon retiring, refreshing their drills and formations. They would certainly be a formidable force in the fight to come, but due to their age the regular soldiers would be more reliable. As for the women volunteers, they were all eager to help any way possible and brought a lot of enthusiasm to the fore. They had made bandages, potions and many were being trained in the treating of wounds. It soon became apparent that Gondor was certainly more advanced than England in terms of its army and its medicine, which made sense for a country in constant war against Mordor. One of the more experienced healers even told my uncle that a Gondorian soldier is often in better health and lives longer than a man not in the army. After inspecting them he inquired about Cylcoth’s daughter, who he learned was named Calwel. She had apparently proven herself to be good at making meals for the soldiers and my uncle had no intention of ordering her away. With that in mind, he returned to the citadel where he planned on looking over the finances for the building of weapons before going to see Hannastog. For this purpose he had taken over a small study in the citadel, and he had been working for almost an hour, when Richard and Jason rushed in.

‘Reinforcements,’ Richard said with a broad grin.

‘What?’

‘Reinforcements,’ Jason repeated him. ‘A hundred knights on horse and seven hundred men-at-arms.’

‘Where are they from? More of Forlong’s men?’

‘No. The men march under a swan banner,’ Richard explained. ‘Faramir said they’re his uncle’s men, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.’

‘By uncle, he’s not Denethor’s brother?’

‘He said that Imrahil’s his mother’s brother.’

‘Thank heavens.’

‘Faramir’s gone down to greet him at the gates and will then show him up here.’

‘In that case, I’ll be ready to greet him in the hall.’

My uncle sat down in his chair and waited, a large number of men from the Fifth Company and the Royal Guard marched into the throne room as well, lining each side of the chamber to welcome the Prince of Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith. The last to join them was Gandalf, who came to stand on my uncles right side with Lord Forlong, while Richard and Jason were on his left. At last the doors opened and a small procession of men walked in, ten guards following their leader. Each wore a magnificent suit of armour, far more ornate than that of a common soldier, with the faulds and pauldrons being in the shape of stylised wings, and their helmets largely resembled that of the common soldier, though instead of the carvings of wings on the helm, each had a pair of silver wings reaching out on each side. From their shoulders hung sapphire cloaks and each man carried a shield bearing a white swan and a white ship. Their leader was a tall, broad shouldered man with a clean shaven face and long black hair, clad in a similar way to his guards, though his armour bore an even greater level of craftsmanship, with gold along each edge of detail and the Gondorian tree on his breast plate was decorated with what my uncle guessed was real silver, and the normal seven stars around it were made up by sapphire’s, matching his own magnificent cloak. He walked in alongside Faramir who was certainly happy to see the man. They stopped before my uncle and Imrahil sparred him only a passing glance before looking at Gandalf and Forlong.

‘Mithrandir, Lord Forlong, my nephew told me a little of what’s happened here, now we’re away from the eyes of the public, can one of you three please explain to me why you aided a foreign mercenary in taking over this city?’

The words, he spoke them with such strength, such authority that even my uncle almost flinched. Before his allies could answer though, my uncle decided to do it himself.

‘I can explain myself,’ my uncle said and stood up. ‘I am James Harris, Baron of Widford, and Lord Castellan of the White Tower.’

‘Lord Castellan?’ Imrahil asked and fixed Faramir with a glare. ‘You know that title has not been used in centuries for a reason. It’s too much power for one man to hold.’

‘This is an emergency,’ Faramir reminded him. ‘We couldn’t afford to waste time with my father dithering.’

‘He was the only option,’ Forlong told him. ‘He’s a brave man and strong enough to kill a Troll.’

‘Why has Lord Denethor been imprisoned?’

‘He’s in his quarters, not in a cell,’ my uncle answered. ‘The fool wanted to send Faramir on a suicide attack on Osgiliath.’

‘Is this true?’

‘It is. Fortunately, Lord Castellan James and Lord Forlong were able to depose my father. We made James the Lord Castellan because there was no one else suitable for the role.’

‘Every word spoken is the truth, Your Excellency,’ Captain Beregond spoke up. ‘It is for the good of the city that Lord Denethor was removed from leadership.’

After a few moments, Imrahil turned his attention to my uncle, the look in his eyes enough to make armies flee.

‘James, wasn’t it?’

‘That is my name.’

‘Well James, please explain why you should remain as Lord Castellan.’

‘Your Excellency, the last thing I want is to start trouble for Gondor, it’s in enough trouble already, but I want more than anything else to defend this city from Mordor. At the moment, we need the powers granted to the Lord Castellan to prepare for the defence of this city. Without those powers, I would not have been able to call so many men to duty or to make the new weapons which will make Gondor’s army even more formidable. If you order me to stand down then in the interest of the common good of the people in my charge, I will do so, but I ask that you allow me to remain in power.’

‘If you are honest with your claims, James, then indeed you are a decent man, but just being a decent man does not make you a good commander.’

‘I am aware of that, but perhaps a physical demonstration of what I can offer you will be better.’

‘A demonstration of what?’

A messenger then walked briskly into the hall and bowed to the assembled men.

‘Lord Castellan, I bring word from Captain Hannastog. He says the first weapons are ready.’

‘Perfect timing. Prince Imrahil, may I invite you to come with me to the Naru shooting range?’

‘Very well,’ he said, now intrigued and allowed my uncle to lead him towards the barracks.

The now large party of twenty Royal Guard, the English men-at-arms, Gandalf, Richard, Forlong and Imrahil and his guards, rode down to the first level of the city to a large archery range. After going inside to the large courtyard my uncle saw Hannastog there, as were a large number of men, standing by a table with a number of devices on them, and next to them a large weapon. My uncle shook hands with Hannastog and inspected the weapons for a few moments before nodding.

‘Exactly as I designed.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘I had a feeling you were the right man for this project,’ he then picked one weapon up from the table, as well as a specially made horn.

The weapon was a metal tube, about ten inches long, attached to a sturdy wooden pole at a length that if it was placed one end on the ground, the other end would reach the hips of an average man. He passed it to Prince Imrahil who held it for a few moments, curious at what it was.

‘Is it some sort of club?’ he asked.

‘No, far more sophisticated. If I may?’ he took it back and poured some amount of the black powder out of the horn and into the tube. He then placed inside it a small lead ball and pushed it down with a wooden rod. Lastly he took a short fuse from the table and pushed it into the smaller hole at the back of the tube. Ready, he looked first at the targets set up at the end of the range, a line of straw dummies wearing maille shirts. Then he looked back at the audience, especially Imrahil who was waiting. ‘Captain Hannastog,’ he spoke up, ‘light it.’

My uncle aimed at a dummy while Hannastog approached with a match and held it to the fuse. A second passed and then.

_BANG_

My uncle was surrounded by a cloud of smoke. Most of the men nearby were holding their hands over their ears at the blast, and the sound was ringing in my uncle’s ears. After a moment when the smoke dispersed, he walked straight towards the dummy and grinned, seeing the hole punched through the armour, straight into the straw beneath.

‘As you can see,’ my uncle said with a broad grin, turning back to his audience, ‘these hand cannons can shred through armour and the flesh beneath.’

He placed the first weapon back onto the table and then picked up the next, a clay pot, sealed at the top, with a fuse sticking out. He held it out to Prince Imrahil.

‘This pot contains the same black powder used in the hand cannon, as well as half a dozen nails wrapped in cloth to prevent sparks,’ he held the fuse over a candle on the table and when the fuse started sparking, my uncle hurled it at the dummies, the thunder clap of the blast still taking many by surprise, and this time Imrahil went with my uncle to inspect the damage. One of the nails had struck the closest dummy, managing to drive through the armour.

‘Very effective,’ the prince remarked.

‘Indeed. Would you like to see the last one?’

‘Of course.’

‘I suggest you cover your ears for this.’

Four men helped to wheel the cannon into place, while it was not a great siege engine of a weapon, it was still effective.

‘My plan is to build four of these,’ my uncle told them. ‘They will be placed on the rampart by the gates. A single shot from one of these will kill a troll.’

He and the gunners, who had been briefed beforehand, loaded the cannon, the cannon ball was about the size of an apple, and once ready, my uncle was the one who fired the weapon. This time everyone was ready and they covered their ears. The enormous cloud of smoke engulfed them and when it cleared, everyone looked ahead to the far wall to see a dummy had been torn in half and a large crack had been rent in the wall of the range, the iron ball sitting below it, still steaming on the ground.

‘We will also use a different shot,’ my uncle told the audience. ‘A bundle of nails and broken glass to make a cloud of death that will consume the Orcs.’

Imrahil, he slowly walked forwards, looking over the cannon, his expression neutral, before looking at my uncle.

‘Four by the time of the siege?’

‘Yes.’

‘And of the hand cannons?’

My uncle looked at Hannastog who answered him.

‘Fifty we believe. For the pots, we can make perhaps three hundred or so.’

Imrahil nodded and looked at my uncle again.

‘Lord Castellan, I have seven hundred men-at-arms and a hundred knights. Where do you need us?’

And so, Imrahil recognised my uncles role in the battle to come. The weapons of black powder had been proven to work. Now they just had to prepare for the Siege of Gondor.

**AN: Out of all the characters who were left out of the films, I wish that Imrahil had been included. I don’t blame Jackson for leaving him out but one of the benefits of fanfiction is being able to experiment with story ideas, hence his inclusion here.**


	17. Chapter Seventeen: The Calling of Father Harold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the English Company and the armies of Rohan prepare to embark towards the war in Gondor, Father Harold must come to grips with the demons that have haunted him his whole life...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

**AN: I decided to not upload over the Christmas period since I guessed everyone would want to spend time with their loved ones rather than reading fanfiction. Anyway, here is the latest chapter and I hope you all like it.**

**Furthermore, as I haven't uploaded much recently, the next chapter will be published tomorrow to make up for it.**

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Seventeen

The Calling of Father Harold

‘An army of cavalry,’ Marcus remarked as we stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the sea of men and tents below us. ‘Have you ever seen so many riders in one place?’

‘I’ve never seen an army of only horsemen,’ I answered. ‘It seems strange.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, you know I’m a good rider but I prefer to fight with my own two feet on firm ground. Give me a solid line of infantry any day.’

‘I’ve never seen horsemen of the skill of Rohan though. Did you see them practicing this morning?’

‘I saw, they’re all skilled I’ll give them that, but I wish there was more of them.’

Indeed, while Rohan could field twelve to fifteen thousand men, before us was only six thousand.

‘I hope more arrive before tomorrow morning.’

The two of us took one last look at the army and then walked back towards our area of the encampment. Dunharrow was a large valley, and the king, his court and our company, as we had such a high quality of armour and we were all veterans of Helm’s Deep we had been accorded that privilege, made camp atop a large cliff overlooking the valley below. Overlooking even our encampment was another cliff, of which the only way through was a narrow pathway which filled me with dread, though I didn’t know why. Gamling, the commander of Theoden’s Guards, told us that many believed those paths to be haunted. Father Harold had spent an hour standing before the entryway to the paths before turning his back to them and walking back to his tent, from which he had not emerged since.

After saying farewell to my cousin, I began to walk towards Eowyn’s tent where I had agreed to meet up with Sunniva. The lady in question was waiting outside it and when Sunniva saw me, she approached me with a nervous grin.

‘So, time to tell him.’

‘Actually,’ I joked, ‘I think I need to put on my breast plate first.’

‘Come on John,’ she said and took my by the arm to drag me towards her father’s tent.

Her father had been granted a commander role in the army, hence why he was also a part of the upper encampment.

‘Are you sure Lady Eowyn won’t miss you?’ I asked her.

‘No, she’s busy sorting out the Hobbit.’

‘The new squire of Rohan,’ I said with a laugh.

‘We’ve managed to adjust a jerkin to his size, and we found a child’s helmet.’

‘I hope the king isn’t planning on letting him come along.’

‘Don’t underestimate him,’ Sunniva told me. ‘He’s got a lot of spirit.’

‘I never said he didn’t, I just don’t think he’s the right size to charge on horseback into battle.’

The look on her face suggested that she agreed but didn’t want to say it. We reached her father’s tent and Sunniva went in first.

‘Father, can we talk?’ I heard her ask.

‘Of course.’

‘John as well.’

‘Bring him in then.’

I stepped into the tent, as simple one with a camping bed in one corner and an armour stand next to it. Cerdic sat on a simple chair by a small table, his sword, a cloth and a bottle of oil on it. I thought about what to say while unconsciously looking at the sword for a short time before I began to speak.

‘Sir, me and Sunniva, we, well, want to tell you that she and I are, are now courting.’

I did not intend on sounding so nervous, and at that moment I wished I was still fighting Uruk’s at Helm’s Deep, at least that was simpler. I glanced at Sunniva who was watching her father nervously, and so I looked at him too, though his neutral face studied both of us for a few moments before making a “hmm” noise.

‘You are both serious about this?’

‘We are,’ I answered and Sunniva nodded.

‘I suppose you were worried that I was going to give you some sort of ridiculous demand or something.’

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘Well, I already fought alongside you at Helm’s Deep and I saw your courage and skill there, so I don’t need to worry about you being a dishonourable man. If the two of you wish to court, then you’re free to do so.’

‘Thank you, father,’ Sunniva loudly said and hugged him.

‘You’re welcome, but John, if you do anything to Sunniva, I will personally use your skull as a sword rack.’

He then flashed a dangerous smile and I did not want to test if he was being truthful or not but after a few more exchanged words, he allowed us to leave and naturally, we were happy that he did not forbid us being together. Unfortunately, Sunniva had to return to Lady Eowyn and I headed towards the English area of the encampment. Deciding to spread some good news I first went up towards Sir Henry Spring and tapped him on the shoulder while he was playing dice with a few others.

‘Sir John?’ he asked me.

‘You won the bet,’ I told him and walked off, a few moments later I heard him cheering.

Lord Aragorn had told me that Henry had won the bet on when I would kiss Sunniva again, it was only fair that he knew. Next I planned on going to tell Marcus, Sunniva and I had agreed to not tell anyone until her father had given us his approval. However, on my way towards Marcus’s tent I spotted Father Harold, who was sitting by a camp fire, looking forlornly towards the horizon.

‘Father,’ I said to him and he looked at me, shaken slightly as he had not heard me coming.

‘John.’

‘Are you alright? You look worried.’

‘Well, it’s a strange issue.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘I suppose so but give me your word that it will go no further.’

‘Of course, I swear it.’

‘In that case, sit down and listen to an old mans fears.’

I sat next to him and he spoke quietly, sharing his worries with me.

‘You might have guessed I was worried about the coming battle, and while it does weigh heavy on my mind, that is not what I fear. If we die soon, then it will be by God’s will that we die. I do not fear my own death, though I fear the punishment for my sins I will accept them as I deserve it. I deserve whatever fate I receive, from the days when I wore plate and sought out danger and blood. What I fear is that which is on my mind.’

‘You fear you are going mad?’ I was confused now.

‘No, not really, or perhaps in a way yes. You see, ever since I was a boy, I’ve had dreams, strange dreams. I would see a pathway, a dark one, leading to a dark doorway, and a voice would speak to me, but I never understood what the voice said. My mother and father thought I was being attacked by demons but our local priest could not help me. To calm my mother I learned to lie, telling her that the dreams no longer plagued me. I got good at it, maybe I would have made a good bishop. All these years the dream followed the same course. Then it changed. At our last night in Edoras, the voice spoke again, and I finally understood it,’ he looked at me with a fearful gaze. ‘I understood what it said. It was as if I knew all along but I finally realised the words. It said, “Follow the path and follow the road. To the sea, to the king.” I wouldn’t have been too bothered but, well, it will sound mad.’

‘Please, go on.’

‘When we arrived here, I saw the paths of the dead. John, that is the pathway I’ve seen in my dreams. I’ve seen it so many times in my dreams, but I saw it at last when we arrived here.’

‘Are you sure they’re not just dreams, and the path just looks like your dream?’

‘I know this, John. I know this is true, that the visions which have plagued my dreams my entire life are here now. I must decide what should I do. I am needed here with our company so that after the battle I can grant last rights to our men if they fall, but the voice told me where to go, down that dark pathway. What does that make me? A prophet or a wizard or a mad man? I don’t know.’

‘What could the voice be? How do you know it is a good thing to go the pathway?’

‘I don’t, my friend, I don’t. I don’t know if the voice is good or evil, only that something wants me to go that way and the last time I doubted if my actions were good or evil I committed my greatest sin.’

‘If you wish to go, the others will understand.’

‘Will they?’ he asked, unusually harsh for him. ‘John, how many priests have claimed to hear voices only to be declared to a traitor to the faith and a heretic in the eyes of the Lord?’

‘But,’ I tried to form an answer, but I couldn’t, not sure what he was going for.

‘The church is failing, John. Too long ago it forgot its mission, to spread the lords word of love and hope, but it’s been clouded by the sickening miasma of wealth and corruption, caring more for temporal gain than for the common good, by robbing from the common man through indulgences. I could have been made a Bishop or a Cardinal, but I wanted to stay away from them, from the rot at the heart of the those who are meant to triumph His word. How many good men who have tried to do right have been excommunicated over the centuries? I believe that the church is headed towards a catastrophe, thirty or forty years and it will come, probably from some foolish act of greed which will see the Bishop of Rome at war against his fellow Christians and the day far from now when all out people embrace cold uncaring logic over the warmth of faith,’ he then shook his head, realising he had revealed his doubts and worries which he had kept hidden for many years. ‘My point, my young friend, is that I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what path I am meant to take, only that ahead of all of us is blood and death.’

I was starting to feel concerned as I listened to him. I was, and still am, no theologian, but his words, if spoken loudly in England, could have seen him burned at the stake.

‘You promised to not tell anyone what I have said?’ he asked me.

‘Of course,’ I had enough respect for him for that. ‘I don’t see how it would matter though, you’re the only priest in Middle Earth, so you’re the only one who could organise a church trial. You can’t put yourself on trial.’

He then laughed, hearty and good this time, his face finally back to the kind one I had known since our arrival.

‘That is a relief I suppose. I will decide tonight what I will do, the Lord will guide me to do the right thing.’

He stood up and walked towards the edge of the cliff and knelt there, a small wooden cross held in hand, his eyes shut in silent prayer, and the sun began to set. I went to get some food and, after eating, I sat with Marcus and Sir Oliver Grey by another fire, all of us wishing that Oswald was here so he could play his pipe.

‘What are our chances?’ Oliver finally asked us.

‘Not good,’ answered Marcus. ‘I heard that the king was expecting twice as many men than we have now.’

‘Aren’t we fighting Orcs?’ Oliver asked him. ‘I heard that Orcs are much weaker than Uruks.’

‘But there will be a lot of them,’ I reminded him.

‘And I was talking to Aragorn,’ Marcus added. ‘He says we can expect more than just Orc’s, there are men who have sworn service to Mordor. They are some of his most dangerous servants.’

‘But with so many horsemen we could sweep them off the field.’

‘It will not be easy. It will either be a terrible defeat or a victory with massive losses. Either way, it’s not good for us.’

‘We can just hope for the best,’ I told my older cousin, not liking his pessimistic tone.

‘And trust in God,’ Oliver agreed with me.

‘And your own sword arm,’ said Lord Robert as he sat with us, a small bottle of mead in his hand. ‘Pretending the odds aren’t against us is a fool’s errand and I’m no fool. We shouldn’t even be here.’

He looked a little dishevelled, his hair not brushed and his eyes heavy, clearly he’d been drinking for a while.

‘You promised my father that our company would stay together,’ Marcus reminded him with an iron tone which my uncle would have been proud of.’

‘I did, and I have every intention of honouring my word to him,’ he then took a drink from his bottle and sighed, shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t change the fact that this is all wrong. The wars I know are fought by sturdy steel and horses, bowmen and black powder with men fighting men. This is all wrong, with magic deciding the fate of battles, with these Orcs, Elves and wizards, none of it should exist. I never wanted to see its like, these strange new things are for the young, not for old men. All my life I wanted to make sure I survived, making sure that no matter who wins wars I’d have a foot in both camps, my son, he’s married to the daughter of a lord who supported the Lancastrians. It’s impossible here. It’s all black and white, good and evil actually exists, I gave up on that long ago. Damnit, you don’t want to hear a drunks ramblings.’

By then it had started to get late, so I decided to get to bed, knowing that the journey to Minas Tirith would be a hard journey and I wanted to be well rested for it. I did decide to take one look out over the camp however, wanting to see the mighty host I would be a part of one last time from such a perfect vantage point. I saw that Father Harold was still there, still praying, but as I looked down into the camp I saw a new party of riders entering the camp. From my vantage I couldn’t guess their numbers but they were very small, even smaller than the English in our force. Thinking little of them, I went to my tent and started getting ready for bed, but I’d only been laying down on my bed for about half an hour when noise outside got my attention. Quickly I pulled on my hosen and shirt, grabbed my sword, and went out to see just over thirty men on horses by the kings tent, though a few horses were unoccupied. These men were all tall and dark haired, wearing light armour of leather and maille, and clad in grey cloaks with no ornamentation, though as I came closer, I saw that the broaches on their cloaks bore a star. One man held a tall banner of a black field and upon it a white tree surrounded by seven stars. A crowd had gathered around them, and there I saw Robert, Marcus and Edmund who were talking to one of the men.

‘I don’t understand why you’re not joining the army,’ Robert said to him, sobred up somewhat by the arrival of these men.

‘Our path lies with Aragorn, and his path is not with Theoden King.’

‘Then where are you going, Captain Halbarad?’ Marcus asked him.

‘To gather more forces for the fight against Mordor.’

‘Where from? I thought there were no more men.’

‘You will see,’ this Halbarad answered him as Aragorn emerged from the tent with two Elves who, by their similar appearance, could only be described as brothers.

Aragorn appeared to almost stand taller, on his face a new determination, and at his waist, I saw that he had a new sword. He made for his horse to find Legolas and Gimli with the mount they shared, ready to ride.

‘You can’t come this time,’ he told them.

‘We’re going with you lad,’ Gimli said with some good humour. ‘Just accept it.’

Aragorn smiled at his friends and mounted his own horse when another horse and rider joined them. I looked and saw it was Father Harold.

‘Where are you headed?’ he asked Aragorn.

‘To the pathway of the dead.’

‘Good. I am coming as well.’

‘But Father Harold, you are neither a warrior or an adventurer,’ Aragorn said, surprised but certainly not dismissive of him, speaking with the respect he offered to everyone he met.

‘I have my reasons for coming, Lord Aragorn.’

‘Father,’ Robert said, ‘you can’t leave our company.’

‘John will explain my reasons,’ he said and suddenly the eyes of the companies leaders snapped to me. Father Harold looked back at Aragorn. ‘When do we leave?’

‘At once.’

‘Excellent. Fate calls to all of us and I will answer her.’

And so, the Grey Company, as I learned later they were called, departed our encampment, down the dark path towards their destiny.

‘Well?’ Robert asked me.

‘Father Harold said that he felt compelled to travel along that path.’

‘Why?’

‘He,’ I answered, trying to work out how much he would have wanted me to tell him. Ultimately I decided to keep his trust, to an extent. ‘Father Harold has recently been having dreams where he saw that pathway.’

‘What?’ asked Edmund, not fully believing me.

‘He’s been dreaming about the path since before he saw it. He thinks that he is meant to go that way, but I’m not sure why.’

The three of them looked at me and then at each other.

‘He isn’t a fighter,’ said Edmund. ‘We don’t need him for the battle.’

‘I’d rather have had a holy man with us,’ Robert countered. ‘There’s nothing we can do now. I’m going to bed.’

That was the attitude of many of us, and that night we mostly slept fitfully, and at dawns first light we were all awoken by great horns being blown. At once we were caught up in a flurry of activity, Cenric arrived at my tent, he had agreed to serve as my squire again, and he aided my with my armour. I decided to not wear my helmet on the journey and hooked it on my belt.

‘Thank you,’ I said to him as I pulled my cloak over my armour.

‘So I talked to Sunniva last night,’ he said with a smile.

‘And what did she tell you?’

‘That you and here are, together now.’

‘Yes we are. I hope you’re not angry.’

‘Of course not. You saved my life at Helm’s Deep, why would I be angry at you?’

‘I’m glad to hear that.’

‘If you ever hurt her though, I’ll kill you,’ he warned me with a lot of confidence and humour.

‘You could try, but right now I could easily kick your arse,’ I laughed back and fortunately he laughed with me as we stepped out of our tent and into the encampment which was busy, with men rushing everywhere, carrying weapons and armour while keeping horses under control in all the excitement.

I saw about two thirds of our company with their horses while a Rohirric quartermaster was passing around lances for us. I and Cenric joined them and we were given lances as well.

‘Here we go again,’ Marcus said to me with a nervous grin.

‘Are you ready for this?’

‘Absolutely. I think you have something else to deal with.’

He then nodded past my shoulder where I saw Sunniva and her father, he was hugging her one last time before walking to his horse, looking at me for a moment, before focusing on his mount. I slowly walked to Sunniva who did not look to be in the best of moods.

‘Are you alright sister?’ Cenric asked her.

‘I just can’t find Lady Eowyn,’ she explained. ‘She was not in very good spirits last night.’

‘Did something happen?’

‘I honestly can’t say or I’d betray her trust. She’s probably gone for a ride to be alone with her thoughts, when the encampment is emptied of men I’ll find her. Goodluck brother,’ she said to Cenric and hugged him.

‘I’ll be alright big sister. We’ll see you when Mordor’s crushed.’

When he walked towards his own horse, leaving Sunniva and I alone, we were silent for a time.

‘Will I see you again?’ she asked.

‘I hope so. I hope I’ll see you again.’

‘Sooner rather than later. Goodbye Sunniva.’

‘That sounds like a last farewell.’

‘It isn’t, I promise you. When it’s all over, well, I’ll visit you.’

‘Good. Until we meet again.’

Knowing there was a good chance I would soon die in battle, I kissed Sunniva on the lips, pulling her close to me. Upon letting her go she kissed me one last time.

‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’

I returned to the company and mounted my horse, ignoring the jovial remarks from the rest of the men at my expense, and I looked at Markus and then the rest of my comrades.

‘Now I’m ready to face Sauron.’

That earned a round of cheers from the men as Theoden emerged from his tent, mounted his horse and led us down into the encampment, stopping on the way so Theoden could tell Merry that he couldn’t accompany the army into war. As we rode past him, dressed in child sized armour and by his pony, he looked at us with pleading eyes, and I did feel sorry for him, but the king was right, though I also believed he didn’t want to risk the Hobbit coming to harm. At last our steady pace changed into a gallop as we rode from the camp and the king of Rohan’s voice called out clearly.

‘Ride! Ride now for Gondor! Ride now for glory!’


	18. Chapter Eighteen: The Darkest of Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clouds darken, the sun is hidden and the Siege of Gondor begins...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Eighteen

The Darkest of Nights

‘I stand as Honorius on the walls of Rome,’ my uncle quietly said to himself as he looked at the scene of Hell before him.

The day of Mordor’s attack had come. The previous night he had prayed that some great disaster would overcome the host of Sauron, but nothing had happened. Instead, he had a short meal with the other leaders of the city, Imrahil, Faramir, Forlong and Gandalf, but instead of battle plans they just talked as soldiers did, telling tales of past glories and defeats.

He woke at dawn the next day and with the help of a squire put on his armour. He wore his usual plate but instead of his usual helmet he had opted to wear a Gondorian one of the type worn by the Guards of the Citadel officers, with a tall plume of black horsehair, and from his shoulders hung the Castellan’s Cloak, its bright colours and decorations making him stand out from all the other officers who favoured blue or black.

The day was dark, Sauron’s great clouds had swallowed the sky over the city, shielding his army from the sun and dampening the spirits of the men of Minas Tirith. The vast army of Orcs and men was laid out before him across the fields. Massive blocks of Orcs made up the bulk of it, but there were also formations of Haradrim and Easterlings standing alongside their allies. In many places there were catapults and siege towers, standing ready for their commanders order. My uncle turned around, he stood on one of the towers of the gate house, behind him were his fellow commanders of the city. While Imrahil had agreed to follow his lead as Lord Castellan, he had enough respect for those who had experience with Mordor to serve alongside him. Imrahil and Gandalf were both second in command, each of them having several companies of men under their direct command to reinforce areas of the wall which appeared weaker. Forlong and his men were stationed on the walls closest to the gates.

My uncle’s plan was simple, hold until Rohan arrived. The trebuchets along the walls would batter the enemy from a distance while the soldiers would fight hard against any Orcs who breached the Othram. If the gate was breached then barricades set up throughout the city would slow don the enemy at every turn, buying more time and costing the Orcs many lives. Imrahil and Gandalf would lead reinforcements to spots which weakened while my uncle would direct the general defence of the city. A number of boys with flags were also in the tower with him to signal the trebuchets, though he also had runners as well.

‘My friends, good luck,’ he shook the hands of Imrahil, Gandalf and Forlong before they left the tower to go to their assigned positions.

Taking one last look at the armies before him, my uncle cleared his throat and began to deliver his speech. The town criers had been brought onto the wall to echo his words along the Othram as he said them.

‘Sons of Gondor, I make no secret that I am not one of you. My homeland is far away but I am still going to fight in defence of your city! If this city falls, I have no doubt that my home shall fall soon after. I have lived for seventy-one years! At my age you cannot be afraid of death! At my age, death may reach out at any time and claim me. I will die one day. Not this day! I will live to see Pelennor wiped clean of the filth who defile it! I will live to see this war won! I will live to see Barad Dur crumble to ruins! I will live to see a king once more rule this land from this city! I will live and lead you out of this dark day into one of an eternal, glorious golden summer! All the heavens are watching us, all who reside there wait to see who wins this battle! In their name, in their honour, we fight! For Gondor! For Gondor! For Gondor!’

Like the thunderous waves of the roaring sea crashing against granite cliffs, his soldiers responded in kind.

_For Gondor! For Gondor! For Gondor!_

My uncle smiled at this declaration of defiance in face of such horror. His men still had some hope, not much, but perhaps just enough for the nightmare ahead. The speech had been written with the help of Imrahil, Faramir and Gandalf, in the process getting a brief lesson on who the Valar are. Imrahil had recommended invoking them in his speech but he refused to turn to beings he did not believe in, instead making his words vague enough that the Gondorians would assume he meant the Valar and my uncle could avoid committing blasphemy. That said, he did admit that the descriptions of them and their creator, Eru Ilúvatar, bore a resemblance to God and the Saints. A matter to be discussed with Gandalf and Father Harold later perhaps.

The catapults of Mordor their wicked bombardment and my uncle ducked when he saw one of what he guessed were small stones coming at him. Each of the catapults released bundles of them at the city and my uncle was confused why they would be using such puny weapons. When the severed head of a man, his face locked in horror and agony in death, thudded onto the tower near him, my uncles blood boiled. The fallen of Osgiliath, those brave men who gave their lives in that doomed but honourable defence, they had been desecrated.

‘Trebuchets!’ my uncle roared and flag bearers signalled.

The battle began.

The trebuchets along the Othram hurled massive chunks of masonry and boulders the size of a man at the horde before them. They were given the order to target the siege towers, though their accuracy meant it was difficult to land a direct hit. However, the expertly trained Gondorian’s manning the engines did their jobs well, and many towers were struck, some toppling over and others being smashed apart, Orcs flying in all directions. The other trebuchets on the upper walls shot at the enemy army in general, massive rocks flattening and crushing many Orcs and wicked men. Others used a weapon my uncle had come up with, they flung barrels through the air which glided through the skies before crashing into the enemy. My uncle watched one on its course as it hit the ground amidst a large group of Orcs. The second it hit the ground it smashed apart, releasing a cloud of white, stinging, choking quicklime. Shrill cries went up soon after these barrels began hitting the ground, the Orcs tearing at their eyes and throats as the quicklime took effect on them.

‘That was for our men!’ my uncle roared, knowing few could hear him but it felt satisfying anyway.

Imrahil had suggested using barrels of black powder instead but Gandalf advised against it, not wanting to waste their supplies when the speed of the barrels would likely put out a fuse, and my uncle agreed. The Prince of Dol Amroth, upon hearing this, agreed that quicklime was the best weapon they could use for this.

No matter how many towers were knocked down, many of them still reached the Othram. As the first of them reached the wall, and their ramps crashed down, my uncle watched the carnage begin.

…

Richard was a little further along the wall, and he had taken command of the Fifth Company. The mixed force of Englishmen and Gondorian’s had become a close unit since they had formed together, and many had come to call them the Castellan’s Company. Richard looked at his men, all of them ready for this. Jason was at his side as they watched the tower drawing closer and closer, right in front of them.

‘Ready boys?’ Richard called out to his men.

‘Ready to kick some Orcs all the way back to Mordor!’ Jason shouted, but most of the men remained silent.

‘Bowmen forward,’ Richard ordered.

His bowmen, English and Gondorian, walked towards the crenulations of the wall and fitted their arrows into place. Mathew Fendrel was amongst them, his face as grim as it had been since his brother was killed.

‘Loose!’ Richard ordered.

The archers began shooting their arrows at the trolls pushing the towers into place, but their hides were thick and it took many shafts to kill one. They reached the wall, the ramp crashed down and the Orcs rushed out. Mathew shot two of them before dropping his bow and pulling out his lead hammer and swung it into the skull of an Orc. Richard drew his sword and began trading blows with Orcs. He slew one, then another and another.

‘Hold the line!’ he shouted at his men as they struggled to fight in the chaos of war.

With all their strength they held their formation around the tower, keeping the Orcs bottled up there. The bowmen had withdrawn and were shooting at the bridge of the tower, linking it to the wall, striking many Orcs in their sides while their compatriots fell onto the swords, spears and bills of my cousin and his men. Younger volunteers who had not been through much training rushed along the walls with satchels of weighted darts and helped the archers, throwing them into the Orcs flanks as they crossed from their towers.

Richard sliced another across the neck and stepped forwards, running another Orc through before slamming his swords cross guard into the face of another, it dropped to the ground and my cousin finished it off with a boot to the neck.

‘Fire pots!’ someone shouted and my cousin looked behind him to see three lads, two carrying my uncles pots of black powder, and the third carrying a candle.

‘Stop standing around!’ Richard shouted. ‘Throw them!’

The two lads lit the fuses of their pots.

‘BACK!’ Jason roared and the company retreated a few steps.

The Orcs, surprised at this, stopped for a moment before they got ready to attack again. However, two fire pots were flung at them, one landing on the bridge of the siege tower and another in the midst of the Orcs on the wall. A second passed and then two sharp blasts tore through the air. Many Orcs collapsed to their knees, dropping their weapons and gripping their ears while others fell dead, shards of pottery or iron nails driven into any exposed flesh. Others were blinded by the blasts of light.

‘Charge!’ Richard ordered.

The opportunity opened by the blasts was all they needed, and Richard and his men sliced their way through the stunned Orcs until Richard was fighting on the bridge of the tower with Jason and a Gondorian named Demand. They were able to quickly cut their way through the Orcs until they reached the ladders at the rear of the tower. With all his strength, Jason began hacking at the ladder with the axe end of his bill hook while Richard and a few others shielded him from Orc archers. With his shield, Richard blocked two arrows, with another striking him on the breast plate but it just bounced off. At last Jason swung his pole arm against the ladder and broke it off, the weak wooden device falling down and taking several Orcs with it.

‘Bring up some fire pots,’ Richard ordered and a moment later the lads appeared with their weapons and started placing them around the top room of the tower.

‘Are you ready?’ Richard asked them.

‘Just a moment captain,’ one of them answered as he busied himself with tying up more fuses to the pots, connecting each fuse together. ‘Alright, we’re ready.’

The lad with the candle then held the flame on the fuse which hissed for a moment before catching alight.

‘Run!’ he shouted and everyone on the tower began to run off, back onto the Othram.

Richard was the last back onto the wall when the pots exploded. The already flimsy tower groaned under the blast before the floor of the top level collapsed, taking the bridge with it and leaving the tower useless. The men cheered for a moment before Richard silenced them.

‘This battle has only just begun,’ he told them.

…

The scene which I have just described was repeated in many places along the wall with siege towers being wrecked and Orcs being cut down by this new weapon. However, with a frown my uncle spotted the occasional accident where the throwers, not used to their new weapons ignored or forgot their instructions and held on too long. In one spot a pot was accidently thrown into a group of Gondorian’s holding the line. The blast killed them and the Orcs rushed through the gap, but my uncle then saw Imrahil and his men plug the gap, fighting valiantly to hold on.

For more than an hour my uncle stood on the tower over the gate, watching the fighting all about him and the situation was better than he expected, oddly enough. Then there was a great surge of Orcs towards the gates, a number of them carrying a battering ram. My uncle laughed when he saw it, such a puny ram could never hope to breach the gates.

‘Bowmen!’ he shouted and the archers on the towers and above the gate began shooting down at them.

In moments the ground before the gate was covered by the bodies of Orcs piling on top of each other as they tried to pick up the ram and fruitlessly patted it against the entry to the city.

‘Cauldrons!’ my uncle then shouted.

In a repeat of his actions at Helm’s Deep, cauldrons of boiling water and hot sand were ready above the gate. The water was poured first and many Orcs fell over, writhing in pain on the ground. When the next Orcs took their place, sand fell from above, causing similar results as before, and yet again more Orcs rushed to take up the ram, and the bodies continued to pile up.

‘Time to give them a proper warning!’ my uncle shouted down and two barrels, carried by men with thin cloths wrapped over their faces, were taken to the wall.

The barrels were opened and the quicklime within was poured down onto the Orcs. The Orcs ran away as the lime tore into their eyes and throats and this time the other Orcs made no attempt at taking up the ram again.

 _Maybe we did waste time on the barricades,_ my uncle thought to himself just before a terrible, horrifying screech filled the air. Death came from above as my uncle looked up and saw the Ring Wraiths on their Fell Beasts racing down at the city. However, as they came close to plucking up men with their claws and mouths, volleys of arrows struck the beasts as Faramir and his best archers began to shoot at them. A few wraiths were able to kill some men but the arrows were so intense that they quickly rose up away from the city and outside of their range.

Again my uncle smiled at his plan working, but a low drumming from the Orc ranks began to fill the air, which soon turned into a chant, one word repeating again and again.

_Grond! Grond! Grond! Grond!_

My uncles eyes turned towards the new, hulking shape coming towards the city. A massive war engine of a size and design my uncle had never imagined. Made in the shape of a wolf, with a fire burning in its jaws and being pulled by massive, brutal looking beasts with leather like hides, was a ram. A ram designed for one purpose, to breach the gates of Minas Tirith.

‘Shit,’ he cursed when he saw it.

…

As night fell the Orc attacks on the Othram had died down, with most of their towers broken by the defenders. Instead, Orcs and Easterlings had begun massing before the gates, an action copied by the defenders. Gandalf, Imrahil and Forlong stood together on the barricades with the men while Hannastog made last checks on the cannons while the Fire Hands, the name given to the men using the hand cannons, took their places. My uncle was behind the barricade, sorting out reserves in case the barricade was breached or when men needed to be replaced.

‘Archers in those windows!’ he ordered again and a group of bowmen rushed into those buildings to take up positions. ‘Keep the powder away from flames you idiots!’

The enemy had begun launching bundles of burning straw tied to boulders from their catapults and as a result many of the building in the lowest level were on fire.

‘Father!’ Richard shouted as he led his company towards him.

‘Well?’

‘The Orcs have pulled away completely from the wall. It’s going to be a fight here that will decide it.’

‘Good, let those bastards come. Jason, lead the company onto the barricade.’

‘Yes Castellan.’

‘I’ll go too,’ said Richard.

‘No. We need to talk.’

‘Father, now’s not a good time.’

‘It may be the last time,’ he said quietly.

When the company had been led away and my uncle was sure no one would overhear him, my uncle spoke to his son.

‘Richard, I know I’ve not always approved of what you do in your spare time, I’ve often thought you were too fond of ales and questionable women.’

‘Father.’

‘Don’t interrupt. I just want you to know that nothing you do could ever truly disappoint me. Since we came to this world of madness my son, since we came here, I’ve never been prouder of you. You have fought with more courage that I could have ever imagined, and your skill at arms, well, you’ve surpassed both your cousin and your brother. If we die tonight, then die knowing that I am proud to have you as my son.’

Richard didn’t know what to say there so he was silent for a moment until my uncle embraced him for just a few seconds before stepping back.

‘Now get on that wall. We’ve got a battle to win! Come on!’

The two men mounted the wall as Grond began to crash into it. The gate shook with each blow and my uncle spotted some men shaking with fear, knowing what was about to come at them. Again the gates were struck and this time the wood splintered revealing the great ram.

‘You are soldiers of Gondor!’ Gandalf proclaimed. ‘Whatever comes through that gate, you will stand your ground!’

The ram struck again and the gates were hurled open. As my uncle expected, three brutish Trolls, all clad in armour and wielding massive hammers the size of a man barged through.

‘Cannons! Fire!’ my uncle commanded.

Four blasts tore through the air, followed by billowing clouds of acrid smoke. All three of the Trolls fell, two were killed outright by cannonballs ripping through their bellies while the other had its left leg ripped off and a massive chunk of its shoulder was now missing. The monster crawled on the ground as archers finished it off. However, my uncle had no time to celebrate for a wave of Orcs, Wargs and Easterlings rushed through the gate. The bodies of the Trolls blocked their paths so they had to fight their way around them, though the Wargs leapt over the bodies. The infantry ran straight forwards into the barricades and found them impossible to move. Spearmen on top began to thrust down while archers on the barricades and in the buildings around them shot arrows down into the mass. Swordsmen took hold of lead darts and also cast them into the horde while lads behind the barricade took hold of Fire Pots and lit them before hurling them over the heads of the men up top and into the packed Orcs and men assailing the city. The Wargs tried to jump the barricades but they fell short each time while others just managed to claw onto the wooden ramparts before their front paws were hacked off. Easterling armed with halberds tried hooking onto the barricades and pulling them down but they were just left vulnerable to arrows and darts while heavy sword blows cut off the heads of their polearms. Hannastog’s bolt throwers then began shooting, causing even more death in Mordor’s ranks as more piled in through the gates but had nowhere to go.

‘Hannastog!’ my uncle shouted as he thrust down with his claymore, getting an Easterling prince through the eye.

‘Castellan?’

‘Time to give the Fire Hands some fun!’

‘Understood. Fire Hands! Fire!’

Twenty five of the Fire Hands who were on the barricade blasted down into the mass of Orcs and Easterlings, the smoke and the noise causing even more panic in their ranks. The other Fire Hands behind the barricades past their loaded hand cannons up to their companions and taking the empty ones to reload. The larger cannons were then ready, loaded with bundles of nails and glass and at Hannastog’s order, they fired. The result was devastating, and when the smoke cleared, there was little left of the Orcs and men before them except for piles of blood and meat.

That is what broke this wave and they began to run, even as more Orcs and men were being rushed in and the confusion saw thousands of the enemy stuck there with nowhere to go. The archers kept shooting and the result was devastating as body after body fell. Eventually the enemy commanders realised what was happening and ordered a retreat from the gates. The yard was then emptied in less than a minute and my uncle looked out across the devastation he and his men had unleashed. Hundreds of Orcs and men were dead, and many more were still clinging on to life by their fingernails. At the base of the barricades the bodies were three or four deep in places and the rest of the space was covered with the dead.

‘They’ll be back!’ my uncle shouted. ‘Fresh men to the barricades! Reload the cannons. Get some water while you can!’

As my uncle ordered this he walked along the barricades checking for damage. In a few places pieces of wood had been pulled out but the structure was still strong. Fresh men marched onto the barricades, and my uncle spotted that these men were of two groups. Forlong’s axemen and the company under the command of Cylcoth, wearing a suit of armour which looked as if it had been in storage for many years.

‘Lord Cylcoth,’ my uncle said to him with a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you in action.’

‘Lord Castellan,’ he answered tersely, ‘you will find that I and my men will not disappoint you.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘Here they come!’ shouted Forlong and my uncle turned to see Easterling soldiers rushing through the gates.

‘Bowmen!’ my uncle shouted and the archers began shooting.

Some of the Easterlings were struck down and killed but the others rushed on, and then stopped, forming ranks and the front line kneeling, the second raising their shields up and the third hiding theirs above their heads. Some arrows got a lucky shot in but most were unable to get through.

‘They’re almost Gondorian in their discipline,’ Forlong said with a tone that could almost be considered admiration.

‘Hannastog!’ my uncle shouted.

‘Fire!’

The cannons, two of which were loaded with nails while the other two had cannon balls, prepared to fire. The nails flew through the air and many of the Easterlings fell dead but more came through the gates to fill the gaps. My uncle was confused for a moment why they were doing this, except to waste arrows, but then he saw it. Men behind the Easterlings line were tying ropes around the dead Trolls and were already pulling them away, clearing the path.

‘Focus on the men behind them!’ my uncle shouted at the archers but by the time he noticed it, they were already cleared.

A new wave of Easterling’s surged forwards, gripping onto a battering ram while Orcs with short ladders rushed in. They clambered over the bodies of their brothers who came before them, many falling to arrows and darts while a volley from the Fire Hands killed many of them. They kept coming though, and they reached the barricade. My uncle swung his sword at the first Orc at the ladder near him, slicing off its head before stabbing another through its neck.

During the fighting he looked over to Forlong and the old warrior was using his spear with such finesse and skill that he almost looked like a man half his age. Cylcoth was also fighting bravely not too far from my uncle and he was indeed a talented warrior. The Fire Hands unleashed another volley which killed many of the Easterlings on their ram but they kept hammering at the barricade. The cannons kept firing and many Orcs and men fell dead, but they continued their attack. Instead of the massive wave of their fast attack, they now came in smaller waves where the great crush of the first assault could not be repeated. Some Orc’s and Easterling’s we’re able to get onto the barricades with their ladders but they were soon cut down. Some of the defenders were killed by spears and halberds while others were hit by arrows.

The Easterlings with their ram struck again and again, breaking off some pieces of wood but arrows and darts kept killing them until somewhere in Mordor’s lines a horn was blown. At once they took up their ram and began to retreat, as did the Orcs with their ladders. For a moment my uncle was confused.

Why had they retreated? To send in fresh troops perhaps, even as my uncle was doing as Farmair and his bowmen stepped onto the barricades. However, something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. It was in the air, as if the life of the world had been sucked away and all that remained was hopelessness.

Through the gates my uncle could only see darkness. Then it emerged. A dark shape upon a horse the colour of a moonless night, and sitting upon its back, dressed from head to foot in black robes, black gauntlets and sabatons, was a dreadful figure. Upon its head was a battle crown which was possessed of a design seemingly in mockery of the crown of thorns worn by Christ.

‘He has come,’ said Gandalf. ‘The Witch King of Angmar.’

The commander of Mordor’s armies. The most ruthless of his servants. He slowly rode through the gateway and came to a stop halfway between the gate and the barricades, surrounded by his soldiers corpses, blood pooling between the cobble stones. Through its empty hood it looked at everyone standing upon the barricades and they all, my uncle, Sir Jason and Richard, they all flinched as its dark gaze fell upon them.

‘Turn back!’ Gandalf boomed. ‘This is the city of the men of Númenor. The men who built this city did not submit to your master, and they shall not submit to the likes of you. Turn back to the abyss which awaits you and your master!’

‘Old fool,’ the Witch King hissed. ‘Do you not know death when you see it? The world of men will fall.’

It drew its sword, the length suddenly turning to flames and pointed the tip at the barricade and Gandalf aimed his own staff at the wraith. Not a sound was made as they fought their invisible battle amidst the carnage of mere mortal warfare. Small splinters emerged on Gandalf’s staff while the Witch King’s sword began to crack, the White Wizard with all his power struggling against a being of darkness, channelling the might of the Lord of Mordor.

What followed can only be described as the kick of an invisible giant which shattered the barricade, throwing all on it back through the air, surrounded by splinters and daggers of wood. The cannons were thrown through the air, baskets of cannon balls went flying, crushing men as they landed. My uncle crashed into the ground and he was sure he’d broken a rib or two. As quickly as he could, and fighting back the pain, he pushed himself up and drew his sword as legions of Orcs and Easterlings rushed in through the gates, past the Witch King and towards the men, many still on their back recovering from the attack.

‘On your feet!’ my uncle shouted. ‘Our barricade is gone, now we are this cities walls!’

Many answered his call and formed rough lines, taking up their swords and fighting as hard as they could while the ruthless, evil legions of the enemy attacked. Even injured men tried to fight, such as Faramir who had broken his left wrist when he hit the ground, but he kept fighting with his sword. My uncle cut down an Easterling and beheaded another when he saw there, on the ground, the fallen form of Lord Forlong, a long splinter of wood in his throat. Gandalf and Imrahil were fighting side by side and Richard and Jason were together.

Sir Jason had lost his helmet somewhere but he kept fighting as hard as he could. He forced an Orc against a wall and rammed the shaft of his bill against his neck and gave it a sharp twist, snapping the beasts neck. He spun around and killed another Orc when an Easterling attacked him. The wicked man and Jason fought for a full minute before his foe sliced down with his scimitar across Jason’s face, cutting out his right eye. Blood ran down Jason’s skin and onto his armour as he staggered backwards. His foe cheered for a moment but that was his undoing as Jason, with all the strength he had, launched himself at his foe and, with his teeth, bit into the man’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere and only then did Jason allow collapse into the embrace of unconsciousness amongst the dead and dying as around him the fighting continued.

**AN: Cliff-hanger! I decided to make the confrontation between the Witch King and Gandalf more like it was in the book, as well as changing when it happens from just before the arrival of the Rohirrim to earlier in the battle.**


	19. Chapter Nineteen: The Most Glorious Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Siege of Gondor goes on, but on the horizon, the sun rises...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

**AN: Sorry this took a little longer than expected but I needed to do a lot of editing on this one. Hope you enjoy it and have a great day.**

Chapter Nineteen

The Most Glorious Dawn

As they fought, the Fire Hands, under Hannastog’s direction, pulled back to regroup at the next barricade while injured men were dragged away. Every man who had been on the barricade was fighting as hard as they could with all their skill and courage against the tide of Orcs and Easterlings. My uncle killed three Orcs in quick succession, Richard at his side, fighting together as one. Around them men with stretchers pulled away the wounded men who had a chance of being saved. Richard saw Jason, still unconscious, being dragged off in a stretcher up the streets.

Oswald, our noble musician and great bowmen, had lost his bow when the barricade was shattered by the Witch King. Still, he fought on armed with a hook handled falchion and buckler. Smashing the shield into the face of an Orc before slicing it across the throat and then hacking another through the arm, he fought so well. Sadly he too fell dead, an Orc grappled him, forcing him to the ground but Oswald was able to gain the advantage, pulling a stiletto from his belt and thrusting it into the beasts eye before an Easterling speared him through the back of his neck. Oswald fell dead, his blood adding to the pool of gore which the yard before the gate had become.

‘Pull back!’ my uncle finally ordered after Pippin, acting as a runner, arrived and told him that the men were ready at the next barricade.

At his word he and his men turned and began to run up the street until they reached the second barricade. The retreat was covered by Rangers and other bowmen in the buildings, the walls between each house having holes nocked through them so they could quickly move between the buildings and basic wooden bridges had been set up on the rooftops over the alleys and backstreets.

Hannastog had already set up the surviving Fire Hands along it to get a good shot when the Orcs would attack. With everyone behind the barricades, my uncle took stock of the survivors and fortunately most of the other leaders had survived.

‘What happened to Lord Forlong?’ asked Imrahil.

‘He’s dead,’ answered my uncle.

‘He was a fine man,’ Imrahil answered, saddened by his loss.

‘He was,’ answered my uncle. ‘Now, let us avenge him.’

The sounds of running boots filled the air and the Fire Hands let off a shot as the wave of Orcs racing up the street. With their weapons fired, they pulled away and the men at arms came forwards, ready to fight. My uncle was at the front as the Siege of Gondor continued.

…

Throughout the night the fighting continued, for hours they held the second barricade until the Orcs overran it and my uncle was at the rear of the fighting retreat up the street to the next one.

‘James,’ Gandalf said to him, ‘we can’t hold here for long. I’ve sent word to prepare men on the next barricade.’

‘Good idea.’

‘You should go and take command.’

‘I am needed here wizard.’

‘Do as I say,’ Gandalf snapped. ‘James, you are an old man and you are exhausted. Please, take a moments rest.’

His words were true and my uncle nodded.

‘Very well.’

‘We’ll manage for a while here,’ said Imrahil.

My uncle nodded and walked up the hill to the next barricade. As he did so he looked at his sword arm. It had never felt so heavy before. He was getting too old for war, a sad thing to admit, but it was the truth. He reached the next barricade where he saw Richard and Faramir amongst the soldiers manning it. As soon as my cousin saw his father he raced over the barricade and hurried to embrace him.

‘Father are you alright? You look ill.’

‘I’m just tired, my son,’ he answered and the two of them were soon behind the barricade, my uncle sitting on some stone steps leading to a rat catchers shop.

A soldier brought a large mug of water to my uncle who downed it in a few seconds. Letting out a sigh, my uncle shook his head.

‘What happened to Jason? I saw him lose his eye.’

‘He’s at the Houses of Healing,’ answered Faramir. ‘If he’ll live or not, I don’t know.’

‘Damn. He’s one of my best fighters. I’m tired.’

‘Do you need more water?’ asked Richard.

‘It will take more than a drink. I’m tired of all this. I’m tired of war. I’m tired of killing, of being pulled into the battles of petty tyrants. Is it too much to want to peace?’

‘Peace is all I dream of,’ Faramir told him.

‘In that case my friend, we’ll win this battle, and then I can get some rest. I pray to God, this will be my last battle.’

‘You have done so much, Lord Castellan,’ Faramir said to him. ‘You have led us this night, if we win, no one will ever ask as much of you again.’

The two men gripped hands and my uncle stood up, drew his sword again, and readied himself for the rest of the battle. Gandalf and Imrahil than rushed along the street with their men behind them.

‘The Orcs have brought Trolls into the city,’ Imrahil said to my uncle, his voice not showing any worry, appearing fearless for the sake of his men. ‘I’ll have the archers and Firehands on the barricade to stop them.’

‘Very good,’ my uncle said and readied himself again for the next bout of fighting.

The Fire Hands stepped up to the barricade and made ready to fire. That’s when my uncle realised that the night was over, and just barely fighting through the clouds was the light of dawn. Then, as three Trolls rounded the corner and onto the street, a sound was heard in the distance. A noble sound, a horn blowing in the distance.

‘What is that?’ asked my uncle.

‘That is a war horn,’ Gandalf answered with a smile. ‘A war horn of Rohan. Theoden has come.’

…

We were on the front rank as we crested the last hill before we reached Minas Tirith. Right beside the honourable men of the Royal Guard, we rode over the hill and the sight before me took away my breath. Minas Tirith, that mighty city so unlike any I had ever imagined, was a beautiful sight, but all about it was a scene of horror. The entire plain around the city was covered by tens of thousands of our foes, such a force as one I had never seen. They were letting out their growls and chants like a distant storm drawing closer and closer, ready to drown us all in a mighty wave.

‘My brother’s in that city,’ Marcus despaired. ‘My father’s in that city.’

‘They’ll be fine,’ I tried to assure him but I was terrified that I was wrong and both of them were dead.

I gripped my lance tighter and looked up at the spearhead, glinting in the light of dawn, before looking down at our enemies again. Already they were moving to face us, but we were ready for them, we were ready for the fight. Theoden himself was also confident and after taking one look at our enemies he began to gallop down the front rank, shouting orders.

‘Eomer, take your Eored down the left flank! Gamling, Robert, follow the King’s Banner down the centre! Grimbold, take your company right, after you’ve passed the wall. Forth, and fear no darkness! Arise! Arise riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken! Shields shall be splintered! A sword day! A red day! Ere the sun rises!’

He drew his sword and the golden light of the dawn made it appear as if he wielded a blade of fire.

We lowered our lances as one and I shut the visor of my helmet while the king galloped down the ranks of his men, tapping the spear of each man with his blade. When he hit mine, I felt my courage stir within me as he spoke again, his voice loud and clear roaring through our ranks.

‘Ride now! Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin and the worlds ending! Death!’

‘Death!’ all the Rohirrim answered, taking us English by surprise.

‘Death!’ the king repeated and we all joined in the response.

‘Death!’

‘Death!’ one last time Theoden shouted and this time our answer roared across the fields, down to our foes who trembled.

‘Death!’

The horns were blown, defiant and mighty, and we were ready.

‘Forth Eorlingas!’

With three cheers we advanced. By words alone such courage was stirred within us. Our horses cantered forwards and then, we charged. The ground shook, the hooves thundered and we all let out defiant shouts and insults at our foes. Such was the fury which the king kindled within our hearts that if we charged the gates of Hell they would have fallen before our wrath.

‘For God!’ Robert roared.

‘For God!’ us English answered.

Arrows flew at us and, in one swift movement, the front ranks of Rohan lifted their shields up as they rode. As for me, an arrow struck my breast plate but it shattered against my armour. We got closer and closer to the enemy ranks as their archers fled behind their pikemen who were also backing away in fear. As we got closer and closer many Orcs threw down their spears and pikes, trying to fight their way past their own ranks to escape, not that it did them any good. I aimed the tip of my lance at Orc who was backing away, and at last we crashed into them.

My lance went straight through the Orc’s maille, killing the beast. I let go of the spear and drew Alaric, swinging down with the sword and taking off heads and hands while my noble horse trampled Orcs underfoot. What happened was a scene I had never imagined, the Orcs were fleeing as fast as they could before our might and the few who stood their ground were easily cut down. Here and there groups of Khandish and Easterling warriors tried to stand against us, but Orcs running away crashed through their ranks, ruining any chance of stopping our attack. Trolls and Half Trolls stood a better chance and they killed many of our men but lances at full speed were enough to pierce their hides and skewer them. I even saw Tancred thrust his lance up through the neck of a Troll and through the other side before Sir Henry Armstrong killed a Khandish chieftain. At one point I spotted Edmund ride past an Orc and with an almost casual gesture, swung his hammer into the Orcs face, sending out a smear of blood through the air, leaving the corpse in his dust.

In one swift attack we forced the hordes of Mordor to turn and flee. Soon the entire enemy force had turned and began to run for their lives. Many of us cheered and the men of Rohan sung songs in their people’s tongue, proclaiming victory and honour.

‘Make safe the city!’ Theoden ordered.

Then our charge stopped as we tried to pursue our foes. Before us, the ground shaking as they came on, was another wave of Mordor’s armies. The Haradrim, those men from the south, had answered Mordor’s call and now they were the reserves that, if they could break us, would win the battle for Mordor. Eight mighty Mûmakil, the towering beasts of war with massive tusks and bearing tall towers on their backs, were the centre of their line, and on each flank were thousands of Harad cavalry.

‘Bowmen against the Oliphants!’ Theoden ordered without a second thought. ‘Everyone else against the horsemen! Form the lines! Charge! Charge!’

The horns were blown again and we charged again against an army the likes of which I had never imagined.

…

Back in the city the fighting had not ended, in fact it had grown even heavier as thousands of Orcs threw themselves into Minas Tirith in fear of the men of Rohan. Though it bit at my uncles pride, he ordered the men to retreat to the second level, but morale was still high.

‘We cannot expect to spend the rest of this battle hiding within the city walls,’ said Imrahil. ‘Rohan has come to our aid, and I would be honoured to ride alongside Theoden King.’

‘You think we should counter attack?’ my uncle asked him with an almost savage smile. ‘I like that idea.’

‘The time is now or never,’ said Gandalf. ‘The tide is turning but it remains undecided. We strike now or we do not strike at all.’

‘Alright then. Imrahil, Gandalf, I am a little old to be leading cavalry charges, so I leave this up to you.’

‘We cannot just ride them down,’ said Imrahil. ‘Our men at arms must drive them from the city first.’

‘That, my friend, I am still young enough for.’

They were having this conversation before the gates of the second level and many soldiers were standing guard as the Orcs hammered at it with a ram. Soldiers atop the gate house with bows were shooting down at the enemy, including the few remaining English bowmen.

‘Soldiers of Gondor!’ my uncle roared, stepping onto a pile of boxes and held up his sword, stealing the attention of every soldier. ‘Sons of Gondor! Sons of Númenor! The Riders of Rohan have come to our aid! Shall we hide in this city or fight alongside our brothers in arms? Will you fight with me and take this dawn!’

‘For Gondor!’ they answered with one voice.

‘For Gondor!’ my uncle declared and was about to step down to organise the attack when he saw a formation of men in darker armour marching through the shining plate of the rest of his men.

At last they reached my uncle who saw they were led by Captain Beregond, who had volunteered to guard the citadel, and at his side, Denethor, clad in a suit of maille and under his arm a helmet and at his waist a sword in its fine scabbard.

‘Lord Steward,’ my uncle said to him.

‘Lord Castellan.’

‘I thought you were in your chambers,’ Gandalf said to him.

‘Not anymore, Mithrandir. I am Steward, this is my city, and I know that we can win today, even if we are doomed to fall against the darkness of the East. If we are doomed, I will die defending my city.’

‘In that case, Lord Steward, will you fight alongside me?’

‘I will.’

‘Thank you. The Guard of the Citadel shall go first! Men at arms of Dol Amroth behind us! Prepare for glory! Imrahil, muster every horseman we have and prepare to attack once we drive them to retreat!’

‘I shall my lord. For Gondor!’

My uncle stood between Beregond and Denethor, the three of them with their weapons ready before the gates which shook each time the ram struck them.

‘Open!’ my uncle ordered and the men at the gates pulled them open, revealing thousands of Orcs, standing ready to pour further into the city. ‘For Gondor!’

‘For Gondor!’ Denethor and every man cheered before charging forwards, swords ready.

…

Outside of the city I and the rest of us riders were in the middle of the fight of our lives. The Haradrim were brave warriors but their armour was much lighter than ours, with many not even matching some of the poorer Rohirric riders. I beheaded one man before thrusting Alaric through the eye of another and then opened another man’s belly. Still, our enemies were ferocious and we lost many fine men to them. The hardest fighting of that great cavalry battle was when the Black Serpent, the great warlord of Harad, and his elite guards joined the fighting.

He and each of his guards were heavily armoured from head to foot in bronze coloured scales and scarlet cloaks edged with gold. Each scale was carved in patterns of dragons, lions and other great beasts while some displayed the wicked Eye of Sauron. Each man bore a lance and a deadly axe or a long, curved scimitar crafted with an incredible amount of skill and decorated with gold and jewels. They charged straight for the banner of Theoden King who, upon seeing the challenge, ordered a horn to be blown and led his Royal Guard and our company straight at them. We charged each other and when we clashed, the results were brutal. I parried the lance of my opponent before stabbing him under the arm. Around me, so many of our men died.

Sir Godfrey Boyle was impaled on two Harad lances, Sir Thomas Ridley was half beheaded by an axe, his blood turning his cream tabard crimson, and Sir John Stanley lost his right hand to the banner bearer of the Serpent, he fell from his horse and was trampled to death in the following fighting. Perhaps the greatest tragedy of our company happened just before Stanley’s death as Daniel and Edward De Trafford, whose brother Gad fell at Helm’s Deep, were both slain. In a great act of reckless courage they charged faster than the rest of us to seek the honour of killing the Black Serpent himself and at that wicked mans hand they were both slain. However, they soon looked down from the Kingdom of God with smiles as Theoden King himself charged the master of the Haradrim and in one mighty blow hewed the head from the Serpent’s vile body, avenging the De Trafford brothers. I then saw a chance for honour and charged to the side of the king and, with Alaric in hand, cut off the arm of the Serpent’s banner bearer who moments before was responsible for the death of my namesake. The banner fell to the ground and my horse trampled it into the dirt.

Seeing their leader dead, the remaining Harad cavalry began to retreat, riding as hard and as fast as they could back to their homeland. Many of us cheered, but the battle was not yet over. Many of the Orcs and other servants of Sauron who had been fleeing had reformed behind the Haradrim and were advancing on us now and there was so little room between us that there was no chance for a real charge, and though several of the Mumakil were dead, the rest continued their rampage across the field while the mounted bowmen of the Rohirrim swarmed around them like hornets, a constant hail of arrows peppering their tough, leather skin. Furthermore, many Orcs and Easterlings who had been fighting inside the white city had rallied out and were forming up against us.

We fought as hard as we could, riding across the fields and striking down every foe of freedom we could find.

‘Rally to me!’ Theoden declared as he prepared another charge. ‘To me!’

The air was filled with a dreadful, horrid screech and a dark shadow appeared overhead. The Witch King of Angmar descended upon his Fell Beast and, in act I am ashamed of to this day, I galloped away from him. I was not alone, for almost all of us fled before this terrible warrior and his monstrous mount. Once I regained control of my horse I looked over my shoulder to see a most terrible sight; the kings horse locked in the mouth of the Fell Beast, with Theoden still on it. The horse and its rider were thrown through the air and crashed into the ground. I wanted to ride to his aid, to help him, but I couldn’t approach the Ring Wraith because of the fear in my heart. When an Orc attacked me it was a welcome distraction and I fought as hard as I could, killing it quickly, and when I looked back, I saw that a warrior stood between the Witch King and the kings broken form.

The Fell Beast made to attack this brave warrior who dodged the attack and beheaded the monster with three quick blows. The Witch King stepped off his dead mount and drew his sword, held in his right hand, while in his left was a flail with a chain the length of a man and its head the size of a cannonball. The young warrior stood alone against him, no one came to his aid, and with a shield tried to block the flail but the wood was shattered and the warriors arm broken by the attack.

Again I was attacked and I didn’t see what happened next as I was too busy fighting, but when I looked again I saw, to my surprise, Merry. With a short sword in hand he stabbed the Witch King in the back of the leg, forcing the beast to its knees with a pained shriek. The warrior of Rohan then stood up, and Lady Eowyn removed her helmet.

‘I am no man!’ she declared and thrust her sword into the blackness within the Witch King’s hood.

His armour began fall to pieces and his cloak was reduced to tattered rags, being blown away by a strong wind. And so the King of Carrion was slain not by the hand of a man, but by the simple, honest courage of a Hobbit and the greatest Shield Maiden of Rohan.

Even then the battle was not yet finished, and as I rode up to a slight hill in the battlefield, I looked towards the river and the sight I saw made my heart sink. There was a fleet of black ships. The Corsair’s of Umbar, I feared, for we had been told that they may come to Mordor’s aid. The Orc’s and other servants of Sauron had rallied again and were advancing upon us, but a horn was blow.

‘Together Rohirrim!’ Eomer’s voice cried across the field. ‘Ride together one last time!’

Thousands of us rode to his side and prepared for one last glorious charge. A horn was blown again, but it was not the bold, deep call of Rohan, but one more regal and older, and our eyes turned towards the city where we saw riders emerging forth from it. The battle was still locked, but it was not yet our doom. We still had a chance of claiming victory that day, even as the black ships docked.

…

My uncle struck down yet another Orc, and then another as he and his men forced their way through the city. They had fought down through the first level only to be halted by the enemy near the main gates.

‘Keep up the attack!’ my uncle ordered before swinging his sword again and opening an Orc from neck to groin.

The two sides continued to fight, blood running across the cobbles and bodies pilling higher. At last the latest knot of orcs began to flee and my uncle ran one through the back, wanting to pursue further but needing to rest for a moment, as did his men. Looking around him, his men were exhausted, as was Denethor as well.

‘Rest for a moment!’ he shouted. ‘Bring up fresh troops! Now!’

Gondorian soldiers advanced to the front while Denethor and Beregond led the Guard back.

‘Are you coming?’ Beregond asked my uncle who just shook his head.

My uncle watched as these men lined up, hopefully with one last push they could drive the Orcs out of the city and Imrahil and his knights would be able to join the battle outside the city. The fresh men formed up, shields raised and spears lowered. All of them had signs of battle damage on their armour and weapons, and their faces were locked with grim determination. They were ready for this.

‘Sons of Gondor!’ my uncle shouted through his raw throat. ‘One last attack and we’ll be at the gates! Will you make this charge with me?’

‘For Gondor!’ they answered, somewhat tiredly.

‘I can’t hear you! Will you charge with me!’

‘For Gondor!’ they answered with more eagerness.

‘One more time!’

‘For Gondor!’

‘For Gondor! We will take back the gate no matter the cost! Advance!’

My uncle pointed his sword forwards, and, in the front rank, he marched with his men down the street towards a bend leading down towards the gates. Then, from around the corner, emerged a pair of Trolls, and behind them a swarm of Orcs, all racing towards the men, eager for blood. At the sight of the Trolls, many of the men stopped their advance and my uncle understood their fear. Even though he was exhausted, he decided the best option was a repeat of Osgiliath, so he stepped out of the lines, looked at his men, and grinned, marching ahead as fast as he could towards the leading Troll. Seeing this display of courage from their leader, his men followed him at a run, spears and swords ready while bowmen in the buildings around them let loose a hail of arrows.

The first Troll swung its club at my uncle who ducked under it before thrusting with his sword, getting the Troll in the belly. He thrust forward with all his strength until the blade was buried up to its hilt in the beasts flesh. The Troll roared in pain one last time before three Gondorian spears were thrust into its body, forcing it down to the ground, dead. The Troll and Orcs following did not stop their attack and my uncle was ready for them. The Orcs raced ahead first and my uncle easily killed three of them before the Troll came face to face with him. It swung its hammer but my uncle dodged the blow and sliced at the bests thigh, cutting all the way to the bone, before drawing his sword back. The beast roared in pain but my uncle was attacked again before he could finish the Troll off. An Orc swung a flail at my uncle who raised his sword, the chain wrapping around his blade.

That was his mistake. In war a single mistake could lead to a disaster, and in this case it did. The Orc, with all its strength, pulled on the sword and my uncle let it go, knowing that he couldn’t afford to get into a tug of war in the middle of a battle. Instead he reached to his belt, pulled out his dagger and plunged it into the offending Orcs throat. When the Orc fell dead, my uncle grabbed a Gondorian sword off the ground, its owner dead nearby, all the while his men still continued to fight the Orcs. Finally ready to finish off the Troll, he turned around, seeing two of his men had already speared it, still pushing their weapons into the Troll’s bulbous form. With one last show of its strength and rage, the Troll forced itself to its feet and swung with its hammer.

The two spearmen were crushed and the hammer flung towards my uncle. He made to dodge the blow but he wasn’t fast enough after so many hours of fighting.

With a sickening crunch, my uncle was struck and he was hurled through the air, pain ringing through the left side of his body. He hit the wall of a building and rolled down to the ground. Blinded by pain, my uncle felt around for any weapon, grabbing the shaft of something which, by its weight, he guessed was an axe or a mace. At last vision returned to him and he saw he had been thrown to the side of the street, ahead of him, Gondorian and Orc soldiers were fighting and both groups were rushing to him. It looked like the Orcs were closer.

That didn’t scare him. What did scare him was what he saw when he looked to his left arm. His lower arm was bent almost in half, blood rushing through cracks in the plate alongside minced flesh and fat. The Orcs were almost upon him.


	20. Chapter Twenty: An Ordained Reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the great armies clash before the White City, a small party travels along the Paths of the Dead...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

**AN: I am so sorry this chapter took so long to get out but uni work did take up a lot of time.**

Chapter Twenty

An Ordained Reign

The Paths of the Dead were a grim place, that much Father Harold quickly realised, and he wanted to leave but at the same time he knew that his destiny was leading him along that bleak, horrid road. He had spoken with Aragorn a lot on this journey and, as he had not spoken with him much since arriving in Middle Earth, he had discovered that he liked the man.

‘You are sure we can find an army in these hills?’ he asked Aragorn.

‘There is an army here,’ he told him. ‘Long ago, the men of these mountains swore an oath that when Gondor was in danger, they would stand with them. When Isildur, my ancestor, called to them for aid, they fled, they had been worshiping Sauron as a god.’

‘Blasphemers and traitors,’ Harold said venomously. ‘But that was thousands of years ago.’

‘The crimes they committed did not go unpunished,’ Aragorn explained sombrely.

‘Both a punishment and a chance for forgiveness,’ Legolas went on.

‘Isildur cursed them,’ Elladan, one of the Elves who had come from the north the with rest of the Grey Company, explained. ‘They would never find rest until the heir of he who cursed them came forth to demand they fulfil their oath.’

The three Elves of the company shared a look and as one they began to recite the ancient prophecy made of these spectres.

_Over the land there lies a long shadow, westward-reaching wings of darkness. The Tower trembles; to the tomb of kings doom approaches. The Dead awaken, for the hour is come for the Oathbreaker. Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come. Need shall drive him. He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead._

Harold felt something chill him to his very bones, as if the dead had heard the words and let out a dreadful, chilling cheer that their chance for peace had come. Harold reached for his neck and gripped the silver cross there all the tighter.

‘You believe you can summon them to fight?’ Harold asked.

‘Yes.’

‘A horde of spectres, you believe they can be offered redemption by you?’

‘I’ll offer them peace if they do their duty at last.’

Harold of course doubted this. These men, if they had broken their oath, had damned themselves and no one aside from God could truly offer them redemption. At last they reached a doorway carved into a cliff side and over it were ancient runes which Harold did not know the meaning of.

‘The way is shut,’ Legolas read them. ‘It is made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut.’

Everyone in the company looked at each other with nervousness, but they all turned to Aragorn, and his look of determination allowed new courage to spark to life within their hearts.

‘It will be dangerous to ride through the mountain,’ he said to them. ‘Dismount and lead your horses. Should anyone wish to turn back, their honour will not be slighted.’

Harold and everyone else climbed off their horses, everyone ready for what awaited them in the mountain. Harold silently prayed and held tight his cross with one hand while leading his horse with the other. He reached into his saddle bag and from within drew a number of candles and handed them out to the other members of the company and they lit them, holding the candles in gloved hands, as the company plunged into darkness.

Their candles only granted them slight reprieve from the shadows, small shells of gold in the haunting place beneath the mountain. It was a dreadful place, in every chamber they passed they found piles of skeletons, and discarded mounds of rusted armour and broken weapons were scattered about. Not even vermin were welcome in that place, for no life at all could last there.

‘We are being followed,’ Legolas announced and Harold’s eyes darted around the bleak halls. ‘I see figures, soldiers and horses as if they were nought but mist. The dead have been summoned.’

Gripping his cross tight enough that his knuckles turned white, Harold continued into the mountain with the rest of the company. They then entered a wide corridor filled at around knee height with sickly, greenish smoke. As the company went through, the sound of snapping beneath their feet filled their ears, Harold having to swallow down his vomit, knowing what they were walking on. Long ghostly hands of the smoke reached out to them, desperately trying to touch something, but Harold held out his cross whenever an arm reached out for him. Each time he did so, one of the arms backed away from his while he carefully led his horse through the terrible place. Silently he muttered prayers for the dead and protection for the living.

Then the corridor opened into a wide chamber, before them, carved into the rock itself, was a great palace of stone with a long line of steps leading up to the doors. Harold could imagine it long ago, with the caverns lit up with tens of thousands of candles, and it would have been glorious rather than the mournful nightmare it was now. The whole company entered the cavern and stood there for a moment until a voice rung through the stagnant air.

‘Who enters my domain?’

On the bottom step leading up to the palace, the green mist manifested and took a new form, that of a man with rotting skin and milky eyes, clad in a tattered red cloak and rusting armour, in his hand an old, notched sword and on his head a battle crown, cracked in places. The spectre of this king looked at the small company with a mixture of annoyance and a regret which was so deeply ingrained in him that it could never go away.

‘One who would have you allegiance,’ Aragorn answered the King of the Dead.

‘The dead, do not suffer the living to pass.’

‘You will suffer me.’

The King of the Dead laughed, mocking the company as the mist withdrew away from them, growing and changing until thousands of ghostly warriors stood around them, some knights on skeletal horses wearing once grand suits of armour, now dented and rusted and others dressed like peasant levies in tattered gambesons, all stood about them, waiting for the command.

‘The way is shut,’ the King of the Dead repeated the warning outside. ‘It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut, now you must die.’

Their king began to advance, and all about them the legion of ghosts began to slowly march forward, weapons ready. Legolas shot an arrow at the King of the Dead, only for it to pass through him while the other members of the company drew their swords. Harold though, he was unarmed, and with horror he came to believe in that moment that he was about to die. Slowly, he knelt down and closed his eyes.

 _So, it ends here,_ he thought. _Mother, father, Catherine my love, I will see you soon._

‘I summon you to fulfil your oath,’ Aragorn announced.

‘None but the King of Gondor may command me.’

A ringing filled the air as steel clashed against steel and the ghostly shuffling of the dead’s marched halted. Harold opened his eyes, a green, transparent spear inches from his face, and he looked to Aragorn who was now holding his sword, blocking the ghostly blade of the King of the Dead. It was impossible, an impossible scene yet it was happening before his eyes.

‘That line was broken!’ the ghost gasped in shock.

Aragorn grabbed the spectre by the throat, forcing him to his knees. The three Elves were smiling at Aragorn while all else looked at him with awe. Harold stood up, as surprised as everyone else there, watching this exchange.

‘It has been remade,’ Aragorn shoved the ghost back and held up his sword so all could see it. ‘I am Isildur’s heir. Fight for us and regain your honour. Gondor is threatened, now fulfil your oath and you will find peace at last! What say you? What say you?’

The silence was deafening as they waited for their decision, all knowing that the fate of Gondor may be decided in the next moment. The King of the Dead, with tired eyes now alight again, looked at his followers, all believing they were doomed to an eternity of suffering. He turned to Aragorn and his face took on a new quality, one it had not seen in thousands of years. Hope.

‘We will fight.’

…

The King of the Dead led the company through the rest of the mountain and out of the other side. Harold was relieved to be in the clear air and beneath the open sky again. They emerged on a hillside where the only feature was a large spherical stone. There the King of Dead re-swore his oath to Aragorn, promising to fight and after that they rode across the countryside to Minas Tirith alongside the spectres, never stopping for a moment. They passed through an abandoned town called Calembel but did not stop, they kept riding through the night while Harold looked on at the spectres following Aragorn.

Of course he could barely believe what he was seeing, and could only hardly accept what Aragorn had promised them. Only God could truly grant absolution to sinners, that was just a fact. The strange army galloped on an on, Harold sleeping for brief moments as they rode but was constantly being awoken by the toils of travel, and once by the screams in terror from a passing traveller.

Finally they reached the coast and kept going until they at last reached the city of Pelargir. From his position on the coast near Pelargir, Father Harold sat on his horse and watched as a great fleet of black ships sailed towards the city. The decks of the ships were filled with heavily armed sailors and marines while from the prow of each ship hanged the body of a man dressed in armour with a tree emblem upon each breastplate.

‘Scum the lot of those pirates,’ cursed Gimli.

Harold looked towards the city and, though his eyes had started to fail him slightly by that time, he could see a lot of men manning the city walls and a lot of movement in their port. If these ghosts failed them, then the men of the city would decide the fate of the day.

‘This land is Gondor’s!’ Aragorn proclaimed to the men of Umbar and held aloft his sword. ‘Release the captives you have taken and turn back to the city of the Corsairs.’

The admiral in command of course laughed at him.

‘Not a chance! There’s a pretty lass we captured in our last raid and I plan on having her tonight!’

As the thugs men laughed and cheered, Harold felt pity leave him, knowing these pirates deserved their fate.

‘That does it!’ Gimli roared and waved his axe at the enemy. ‘Prepare to be boarded!’

‘You and whose army?’ they mocked him.

‘This army,’ Aragorn answered and pointed his sword towards the fleet.

After that the ghosts emerged from beneath the waves and swallowed up the Corsairs. The slaughter didn’t last long, but in moments, before them were nought but ghost ships. Members of the Grey Company swam out to the ships to man them and deal with any captives on board and men from Pelargir in boats approached nervously eyeing the host of the dead which appeared on dry land again, looking at Aragorn.

‘We did as you asked,’ the King told Aragorn. ‘Release us.’

‘Should we do it?’ asked Gimli. ‘We might need them again.’

‘You gave us your word!’ the King shouted.

‘I hold your oats fulfilled,’ Aragorn told them. ‘Go and be at peace.’

As the wind blew, the army of the dead faded out of sight, finally finding the rest they had so long dreamed of. Father Harold looked at Aragorn now, differently than before. He had granted peace to those souls. What more evidence did he need that this was no mere man descended from a king, but one whose reign was proclaimed by the Almighty. Harold knelt before Aragorn.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said to him. ‘I pledge you my loyalty.’

‘Please rise, Father Harold. We will have time for that later, but for now it is against us.’

‘Or maybe Estel is just shy,’ joked one of the sons of Elrond.

Aragorn took the remark in stride as he remounted his horse and rode towards the city with the Elven brothers, Legolas, Gimli and Father Harold. The rest of the Grey Company were dealing with the Corsair ships. As they approached the city, a party of riders emerged from the gates, coming towards them. The two parties stopped before each other and the leader from the city spoke first.

‘I am Corinir, Lord of Pelargir,’ he said to them. ‘I thank you, whoever you are, for bringing that host to our aid.’

‘It was an honour to relieve the city, Lord Corinir. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur.’

At this revelation, most of the party from the city gasped in shock.

‘You have proof?’ Corinir asked him.

‘Only the heir of Isildur could summon the Dead Men of Dunharrow, and here,’ he drew his sword and held it aloft, ‘before you are the Shards of Narsil, the blade that was once broken made again.’

‘Then, welcome to Pelargir, my king,’ Corinir bowed.

‘I do not have long to enjoy the hospitality of your city, my lord, for a great darkness marches of Minas Tirith. How many men do you have?’

‘Three thousand in the city,’ he answered. ‘Another six thousand are encamped nearby, preparing to aid us, they can be here by the end of the day.’

‘I have need of them all. Load your men in the city onto the black ships, we’ll use them to get to Minas Tirith.’

‘Of course sire. It will take at least two hours.’

‘I need it done as quickly as possible. There’s no time to lose.’

Upon entering the city, they found themselves amid organised chaos as men who had been expecting to defend their city found themselves boarding the ships of their enemies, ready to travel north to Minas Tirith. Corinir had already sent word to the soldiers near the city that they were to travel to the capital by road. Father Harold, not being a military man, stood at the edge of the dockyards on the steps to the customs house, simply watching the display. In addition to the soldiers were the many people of the city who, now they were safe, emerged from their homes to hand out food and gifts to the men. He saw many young women gifting men flowers or small trinkets, older men saying farewell to their sons, and young children embracing their fathers. It made him think of different times when he was a younger man, before he was priest. Another time, when he was a very different man. Aragorn had asked Harold to join him on the largest ship when it was time to leave, so there was little to do but wait. He did attract a few looks, mostly because word had spread that the Heir of Isildur had emerged and, as one of his companions, he was bound to get attention.

Eventually, he walked down to the docks where the ship he would board was waiting. Aragorn was at the boarding ramp, directing troops onto it. Lord Corinir was with him, helping to deal with the numbers of men they would be transporting.

‘Father Harold,’ Aragorn said to him. ‘If you wish to take rest here I will not be offended.’

‘My king, the journey has been long but I will not fail in the eyes of God by leaving you now. In God’s name I will follow you.’

…

I swung my sword down again and killed another Orc. Alaric’s blade was coated in an ugly mix of red, brown and black blood from the enemies I had slain, and still there was no sign of the battle ending. Everywhere I looked I could just see the men of Rohan fighting for their lives, and as I galloped up to a slight rise in the ground, I looked towards the docks, and the leading three ships had already come close to the shore and ramps had dropped over the sides, men ready to begin pouring out of them and into the battle.

Commanding my horse to charge again, I, Marcus and the rest of our noble company closed in on a group of Orcs being pursued by fifty men of Rohan. We made short work of them. Everywhere I looked, thousands of our riders fought against the armies of Mordor, swirling formations of horses charging through hastily organised lines of Orcs, but everywhere we won a fight, another of our men were pulled from their horses and cut to ribbons.

I looked for the commander of this company of Rohirrim and I was glad to recognise Cerdic leading them, Cenric at his side.

‘I’m glad to see you’re alright,’ Cerdic said to me and then looked at Robert, leading us. ‘Lord Robert, I see a company of Orcs forming nearby. Will you aid in me in striking down these brigands?’

‘I’d be happy to,’ he answered and held up his sword, looking at us. ‘For God!’

‘For God!’

Our group charged the said company in moments we crushed it but there were still more of the enemy, they were everywhere.

‘We can’t win this battle by striking down the odd group of Orcs,’ Robert told Cerdic and he pointed his sword towards the city where tens of thousands of Orcs still stood, waiting for battle. ‘We break to the city!’

‘Agreed!’ Cerdic shouted. ‘To the city men! Forth Eorlingas!’

Many of the other companies we passed as we made our charge joined us and we became a mighty force, thundering again into the lines of Mordor. Mounted bowmen from Rohan amongst our number shot at our foes as they galloped at full speed, once again amazing me at the skill of the men of Rohan. Just before we collided with the armies of Mordor, horns were blown from the city and a ripple started through Mordor’s lines. From the gateway, over the heads of the Orcs, I saw many standards emerge and men atop horses charged out and into our foes. We attacked our enemies with all our fury, knowing God was on our side, we fought, we slashed with our swords and skewered with our lances, before our mighty charge the Orcs fell dead, but they still stood against us. Then something changed in the course of battle, and the Orcs began to flee from us.

At last I realised why. The black ships hadn’t come with more enemies, but allies from the south of Gondor. Charging forth from the harbour came thousands of men marching under the banner of Aragorn and from the city a great host of riders led by Gandalf and another tall man I did not know yet. The tide turned and the Orcs and men loyal to Sauron fled before us, being driven off of the fields of Pelennor and back to Osgiliath where they kept running as fast as they could.

We had won the battle. The day was ours.


	21. Chapter Twenty One: Setting the Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victory has been won but for how long? The cost has been high and one last sacrifice must be made...

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Twenty One

Setting the Stage

My cousin and I slowly walked across the battlefield, inspecting our bloody days work. The dead were strewn about everywhere, severed limbs in piles and the towering forms of the Mumakil laid as fallen titans. Men of Harad and Easterlings who chose to surrender were being disarmed and marched towards Minas Tirith to be thrown in cells. Not many surrendered, maybe only a few hundred out of the tens of thousands who had come for war. The others had either fled or fought to the last man out of their blasphemous devotion to the Dark Lord. The way they looked at us, with such hatred and anger, I had never imagined I could see the like from my fellow man.

‘How many did we lose?’ I asked Marcus.

‘I don’t know, only it was far too many.’

‘Company together!’ Robert shouted across the battlefield and our company gathered around, and I then realised just how many of us had been killed.

Out of the fifty or so men who had ridden, the younger squires had waited away from the battlefield, thirteen of us were missing from the final count. Upon realising this our gazes turned towards the harbour where a lone figure was galloping towards us. Father Harold.

The priest climbed off his horse and walked to stand by Robert.

‘Lord Robert, by the Grace of God, victory is ours.’

‘Indeed it is, but the cost has been high.’

‘We must find the bodies of our men, I will consecrate a burial for them.’

‘Very well. Sir Marcus, Sir John, go and find out what’s happened to the Baron and the rest of the company in the city.’

‘Alright,’ Marcus agreed for us.

‘Everyone else, find our men.’

We looked towards the city where the reinforcements from the ships were marching forwards to relieve the defenders, and the two of us joined them. We passed the colossal ram, shocked at its size, and then the shattered remains of the gates. The courtyard on the other side was littered with the bodies of men and Orcs, long, sword like splinters of wood from where the barricades were destroyed. Healers were looking over the remains of the men there while a few soldiers were at the bloody business of finishing off any wounded Orcs they found.

‘It looks like it was quite a fight,’ I said as we passed a cannon, laying discarded on the ground.

‘I didn’t think these people had cannons,’ he answered.

‘Look,’ I said and picked up a kettle helmet off the ground and showed it to Marcus. ‘This is Jason’s.’

The strap of the helmet was cut through and blood stained the leather and metal.

‘His body isn’t here,’ he answered me, though I could tell he also feared for our friend.

We continued up the street until we reached another place where bodies were strewn about, including the remains of Trolls. There were also men of Gondor there, dressed in dark livery over their armour. As we passed the remains of the Orcs, my cousins eyes fixed on something and all the colour drained from his face. He ran and then knelt beside a sword wrapped in the long chain of a flail, a claymore.

‘My father’s,’ he said and untangled the sword, picking it up, the blade coated in blood.

‘He might be alive,’ I told him. ‘If he had to leave the sword he’d have good reason.’

A Gondorian officer walking past was scanning the ground with his eyes when he looked up at the two of us and when he saw the tabards we wore his eyes widened.

‘You wear the Lord Castallan’s livery,’ he said.

‘Lord Castellan?’ Marcus asked him.

‘Baron James Harris.’

‘Is he alright?’ my cousin demanded ‘Is my father alright?’

‘He was injured in the fighting. He’s at the Houses of Healing.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

The officer looked over his shoulder to a few of his men.

‘Please show these men to the Houses of Healing. Now.’

They did so and we eventually made it to the Houses of Healing. Young women aided the wounded as they were treated in as orderly a manner as possible, but everywhere they looked the found injured and dying men, many of them receiving nothing but comfort as they slowly passed on. Once we arrived we told one of the helpers who we were and she at once led us through the place to a room at the back where she left us. Upon arriving I was relieved because sitting on a chair by the door, stripped out of his armour and wearing only basic clothes, stained with sweat and blood, was Richard.

‘Brother!’ Marcus shouted and my cousin looked up.

Upon seeing his has face was washed with relief and he stood up, embracing his brother and then me.

‘You’re alright. You’re both alright!’

‘We heard father was wounded. What happened?’

‘A Troll, he was thrown through the air and into a wall. He’d have been killed if Denethor, the Steward, hadn’t led some of the Royal Guard to the front and bought time for him to be rescued. He died to get him out of there.’

‘How is he?’ I asked him.

‘The healer, he said, he said,’ fighting back tears, ‘he said he’ll live but, but he’s going to have to take his arm off.’

‘They can’t cut his arm off!’ Marcus shouted at Richard.

‘They have to,’ Richard then started crying.

I hadn’t seen Richard cry since we were boys, and now he wept as if he was a newborn. I embraced my cousin, trying to comfort him, but it was for no good. At around that time there was a commotion as Lady Eowyn was brought to the Houses by Eomer and Aragorn, and the healers ordered that anyone not injured, or a healer was to leave. With some reluctance we did so and once outside we went back down the city to tell Robert what had happened. Before we’d even gone a few paces though, we were joined by another man.

‘I thought you were dead,’ Richard said to Jason.

I was shocked by his appearance. Stitches were holding his face wounds shut, and an eye path covered where his eye once sat. He was pale, only making the terrible amount of dried blood covering most of his face more obvious.

‘It will take a lot more than a lost eye to finish me off. The same can’t be said for some of the others.’

‘How many?’ I asked him.

‘Six were killed here, just as many when Osgiliath fell a few days ago.’

‘A dozen, and thirteen of us were killed outside of the city.’

‘Twenty five of us gone in this land, we lost seventeen in Rohan,’ Marcus listed off our dead. ‘Forty two dead, almost half of the company has died since we joined this war.’

‘We lost Oswald,’ Jason added. ‘I’m going to miss that minstrel. We lost Tom Fendrel too.’

Learning of the loss of Oswald was a bitter blow for us, he had kept us well entertained in our travels, blowing on his pipe merrily. Now he was gone. Thomas Fendrel dead as well. He had become the leader of our archers and he was a man of no small amount of skill. With him gone, my thoughts went out to Mathew wherever he was.

Once back outside the city we easily found Harold where some of the new arrivals had started digging a grave for us, at Harold’s request. We told Robert about my uncle and he looked very worried indeed.

‘It’s no secret I disagreed with your father,’ he said to Marcus, ‘but by God we need him.’

My eyes panned across the field of the dead when I saw a familiar form hunched on the ground, sobbing. My heart sank and I ran towards him, I ran to Cenric, holding his fathers body, a broken spear head in his chest. Cerdic was dead, fallen in battle with so many other noble heroes.

‘I’m sorry Cenric,’ I told him, but he ignored me, holding his father even tighter.

…

That night I and the rest of our company stood by the open grave for our fallen brothers, the bodies of our men wrapped in blankets, as the group of grave diggers stood nearby with their spades. Father Harold stood by the grave side, reciting prayers for those who died. When he was finished speaking in Latin he looked at us again with sorrowful eyes.

‘This day has been a dark one, a day of blood and war. Yet, even now, as we are surrounded by death, we are as much surrounded by life. A king has returned to this land, and his return heralds the end of this war. Our brothers, our friends, did not die for nothing, but they fell in service of the most honourable cause in all of history. Take comfort in this, that now they walk in paradise. They have found their peace.’

He then nodded at the grave diggers who began to fill in the pit, our comrades being covered by soil until only a small burial mound was left. Afterwards, Marcus and Edmund walked up to the top of the slight mound and planted a wooden cross made from planks salvaged from a siege tower. We bowed to the cross before turning to leave, walking towards the barracks given to my uncle and the men he had brought to the city.

Our meal that night was a solemn affair, a basic stew and bread, and no one was in much mood for talking. There was no music, now that Oswald was gone, and my uncle was still at the Houses of Healing. Of his condition we had no word for most of the day, though Father Harold had gone to see him and, after praying for him before our meal, he assured us he was recovering. We went to bed that night, I was sharing a room with Jason, but I couldn’t sleep, in part because of Jason’s snoring which didn’t sound too different from a herd of stampeding horses. My thoughts were with Cenric, the last time I’d seen him he had been at the Rohirric camp, still mourning his father. I was much younger than him when my father died, only eleven or twelve, I can’t remember exactly. To be honest, at times I found it hard to remember what he looked like, aside from the missing finger on his left hand, a wound from the Battle of Northampton although my uncle had often said I was his image.

What about Sunniva? It would be a while before she would even learn of the death of her father. I wasn’t sure what I would say to her.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I remember being shaken awake. Opening my eyes I was looking up at Richard who was holding a candle.

‘My father’s awake,’ he whispered. ‘He wants to see us.’

At once I was up and got dressed, pulling on a cloak over my clothes. It was early in the morning, the sun hadn’t yet come up, and the streets were empty aside from the guards who were on patrol. A few Orcs had managed to hide in the cellars and sewers of the city and were still being hunted down. My cousins and I rode up to the Houses of Healing and we were then led to one of the rooms by the gardens. While we went through the gardens I looked to the East where, in the darkness, I could see the fires of Mount Doom roaring. I knew that though we had won an incredible victory, the war was still not won.

Anyway, we reached my uncle’s room where a pair of the Royal Guard stood outside. They allowed us in where I found a well-ordered room where my uncle was sitting up in bed, dressed in a night shirt. His hair had been combed and a servant stood by the bed with a razor, helping my uncle shave the stubble which had developed since he was injured. My uncle looked pale but not weak, not at all, and his eyes held their usual determination. Sitting in a chair by my uncle was Father Harold.

‘My sons,’ he said when he saw my cousins, ‘my nephew,’ he said when I entered behind the other two, his tone holding me in the same regard as Richard and Marcus.

‘How do you feel?’ Marcus asked him.

‘I feel like a Troll tossed my through the air,’ he answered. ‘I also feel like my leg’s been broken and my arms been cut off. My healers though, they tell me that I will recover, but above all I’m starving.’

‘I could send to the kitchens for some food,’ I offered.

‘I’ve already asked them,’ Father Harold told us.

‘And I’m looking forward to it. The cooks say it’s something called a full Shire breakfast. I think Pippin told them how to make it.’

He seemed to be in good spirits, all things considered, and we sat down on chairs around his bed while the servant finished his work, leaving a moment later.

‘Now he’s gone, we need to talk. Richard, I’ve never been prouder to call you my son. You fought with such courage when all hope looked to be gone and we won. Thank you for standing with me.’

‘I was doing my duty father,’ he answered with a smile.

‘No, you did more than your duty. Marcus, John, thank you both for coming and for fighting. I almost wish I was out there with you.’

‘We wished we were with you,’ was my cousins answer.

‘It was such a terrible fight my son, I’m glad you weren’t and I wish Richard didn’t have to be in such danger. John, I understand that you fought bravely as well, and that you have gotten rather close to Lady Sunniva.’

I felt my face redden there while Richard laughed.

‘Thank you, uncle.’

‘Now, we have a lot to discuss. I understand that Lord Aragorn has decided to claim his throne, and since he brought so many reinforcements to the city, we can safely say he will find no opposition from anyone.’

‘Agreed,’ I added. ‘Perhaps a king in this country will actually give them the motivation to take the fight to Mordor.’

‘It wasn’t a lack of fighting spirit, John,’ he stopped me. ‘Gondor’s people are so few and its armies so small that they could never attack Mordor, just hold the walls. Still, perhaps this boost to their fighting spirits will be enough to help us win this war.’

A knock came from the door and I opened to see who it was, a young woman was out there carrying a tray with a covered plate.

‘The Lord Castellan’s food,’ she explained, and I let her in.

She set up the tray on my uncle’s lap, he sat up fully, and when the plate was uncovered, I saw a very good looking meal of sausages, bacon, two fried eggs, mushrooms, toasted bread and a strange looking thing which I later learned was called a tomato. My uncle reached for his knife and fork, only to then look at the stump of his elbow where his left arm used to be and sighed.

‘Let me help,’ said Richard and he took the knife and fork, cutting the toast, sausages and bacon while my uncle looked on, slightly deflated.

‘Thank you, son,’ he said quietly and began to eat his food. ‘Now, when everyone’s awake later, I want everyone who fought in our company and isn’t a knight gathered together. They’ll all be knighted.’

‘Are you sure, father?’ asked Marcus. ‘I don’t think Lord Robert or a few of the others will approve.’

‘To be honest I don’t care what they think. Our men have earned it, and there’s another matter. I think we need to accept that return to England might be impossible, and that Middle Earth is now our home.’

‘Father,’ said Richard, ‘we can’t just accept that I’ll never see mother again.’

‘She’s a smart woman, and she has family in Ireland who’ll protect her. We lost Widford before and we survived.’

I had no memories of that time. It had been in 1459 just after the Battle of Ludford where the Lancastrian’s won a victory and many of the Yorkists had to flee England. Marcus had been just a year old at the time when my uncle, his wife and Marcus fled with Richard of York to Ireland while my parents got a ship to Calais where I was born a few months later. My father and my uncle fought in separate parts of the country and wouldn’t see each other until just before they smashed the Lancastrian’s at Towton.

‘Either way,’ he continued, ‘by fighting so well, and by my leadership of this city, we have made a name for ourselves in Middle Earth. Father,’ he nodded to the priest to whom he must have been discussing matters with before we arrived.

‘The dreams I have had my entire life, they led me on a path towards Pelargir and then to here. They led me on a path towards seeing the King of Gondor grant peace to an army of phantoms. My path has led me to this world, and it is in this world I will remain. This world is pure, though evil inhabits it, there is also goodness, and it is untouched by the corruption which has eaten away the heart of the church in Rome. As Simon-Peter served as the rock upon which the old church was built, I shall be the rock for a new church in Middle Earth whose light shall spread out from Minas Tirith so that all may live together in peace in the eyes of the Lord.’

The three of us heard all of this and we looked at him with some surprise, though I wasn’t as surprised since he had confided in me a few days earlier. As usual, Marcus spoke first.

‘Why? The church has been fine the way it was.’

‘You are wrong. The church has been failing in its duties for years. Please understand, almost every parish priest in his church has been a good and honourable man doing his duties, but the bishops, the archbishops and the cardinals, the Pope himself, have become corrupted by power and wealth. We follow the teachings of the Lord, but He is greater than you and I who are but men. We are flawed, it is the nature of men to be flawed, to only try and imitate His perfect majesty. Over the years, the church has been corrupted and now I have a chance to make things right. Everything I have done, all the losses I have suffered, they have been to shape me for this duty.’

‘Father,’ I said to him, ‘I have thought about what you told me at the encampment. I think you may be right, and I trust that you will do what’s best for us all.’

‘Thank you for your confidence. Richard?’

‘I’ll just do what my father says,’ he said with a shrug which earned a smile from my uncle.

‘There will be a meeting at midday,’ my uncle explained the next issue. ‘It will be to decide our next move in the way, and I’ve been invited to attend. Our fates may well be decided there.’

…

Not long after the sun had risen my cousins and I left his room and we decided to find somewhere to get breakfast. However, as the three of us walked through the gardens, I was surprised to see a familiar face.

‘Sunniva?’ I asked, shocked to see her at Minas Tirith.

‘John. I heard your uncle was injured,’ she said, her face saddened and a slight tinge of red in her eyes left by crying.

‘I’m sorry Sunniva, about your father.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But what are you doing here?’

‘We’ll see you later John,’ Marcus told me and my two cousins left us.

‘It’s a bit of a long story. After you all left we couldn’t find Lady Eowyn anywhere. We assumed she’d gone riding so the rest of the camp followers decided to pack up. After a few hours and she hadn’t come back we got worried, and I decided to check her tent in case she left a note or something. There wasn’t a note and then I found her armour and her sword were missing. After that it wasn’t hard to work out what she’d done and by then it was already night time. Most of us decided to return to Edoras but a few soldiers who were meant to stay as guards agreed to ride to Theoden and tell what Eowyn had done, and I went with them. I am meant to be her hand maid after all.’

‘Surely a small group would have been able to catch up with us.’

‘You’d have thought so, but we kept running into brigands on the roads picking up pieces of kit the army dropped as it went along, so we had to go off road. We only got here two hours ago. I arrived to find Eowyn alive but wounded, and my father gone.’

‘I am truly sorry.’

‘I just, I just don’t know what we’ll do without him. Cenric’s clever enough to run the farm, but he’s still younger than me.’

‘Has your new king agreed to let him keep the land?’

‘By law he has to, I’m not worried about that. It’s just, he’s gone. My father’s gone.’

I wrapped my arms around Sunniva and held her close as she began to cry yet again. For a while she did so until at last, she stepped away and slowly walked towards the edge of the garden, looking towards Mordor.

‘John, I’ve made my choice. Where is Father Harold? I want to be baptised now.’

‘You’re sure?’ I asked her.

‘Yes, I’m sure. After seeing so many dead in those fields and yet our people won, I know now that God is on our side.’

‘Harold is with my uncle. I can go and ask for him if you want.’

‘Please, I don’t want to interrupt him. I’ll go and find him when he’s free. I have to go to Lady Eowyn’s room for when she wakes up.’

‘Are you sure. I mean, with what happened I’m sure she would understand if you weren’t up to working.’

‘John, I need something to focus on,’ I hadn’t expected the harshness of her tone. At once she realised how she sounded and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just, a lot has happened.’

‘I understand. Till next time.’

‘Alright.’

…

I was not a part of what has since become known as the Last Debate, though the discussion is widely known and decided the fate of the world. My uncle, who was sitting in a chair and was holding onto a walking stick, as well as Marcus, Father Harold, Lord Robert, Sir Jason and Edmund, were there as well. Also in attendance was Lord Faramir, his arm in a splint and sling, Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Prince Imrahil, King Eomer, the sons of Elrond and, of course, Aragorn. The purpose of the meeting in the throne room was to decide their next move in the war and to finally reveal to my uncle and the rest of the companies leaders the truth of Frodo Baggins and the One Ring.

‘So,’ Jason said after Gandalf and the others in the Fellowship had told them, ‘you decided it was a good idea to send a pair of Hobbits to into a land of fire, ash and smoke, filled to brim with Orcs, to climb up a mountain of fire and throw the Ring into it? We’re dead.’

‘Don’t doubt the Hobbits,’ Eomer told him.

‘I’m not, but it’s a suicide mission. Gandalf, you’ve sent those Hobbits to their deaths. That’s cold.’

‘Jason,’ my uncle snapped at him. ‘That’s enough pessimism.’

‘It’s not pessimism, Baron. It’s the truth.’

‘I have sent Frodo to his death, I know I have,’ Gandalf said, his voice weak. ‘Sauron will soon strike again. He has suffered a defeat, but within Mordor he is regrouping.’

‘Let him stay,’ suggested Gimli. ‘It will give us more chances to rebuild our own defences.’

‘Ten thousand Orcs now lay between Frodo and Mount Doom,’ the wizard answered.

‘Surely there must be a way to help them,’ my uncle spoke up. ‘Is there somewhere we can attack? Something Sauron will have to send troops out to defend.’

‘No,’ said Imrahil. ‘Gondor does not have the strength to launch a campaign against Mordor, nor can we move armies far from home. Umbar is too far to the south, and Mordor itself is surrounded by mountains.’

‘There is somewhere we can strike,’ Aragorn told Imrahil. ‘The Black Gate.’

Upon seeing the surprised and, in some cases, shocked, look on the faces of those gathered there, my uncle needed to know what these gates were.

‘What is the Black Gate?’ asked Robert.

‘The way into Mordor,’ answered Faramir. ‘It’s a narrow pass, sealed off with two, great, fortified gates. They’re unassailable.’

‘We could never win through strength of arms alone,’ said Eomer.

‘I know we can’t,’ Aragorn agreed, ‘but what we can do is keep Sauron’s eye on us. We march on the Black Gate and Sauron will face us. He still thinks we have the Ring, and he knows I have come forth.’

‘I see,’ Robert said with a thin smile. ‘Sauron will believe we’ll have the Ring with us against the Black Gate.’

‘Exactly,’ said Aragorn. ‘He will be blind to all else that moves and empty his lands, mustering his full strength to oppose us.’

‘And the Hobbit’s will have a clear path through Mordor,’ my uncle finished. ‘It could work.’

‘You have my support,’ Eomer volunteered his men.

‘And mine,’ said Imrahil.

My uncle looked at the rest of the company’s leaders who all nodded.

‘We will join,’ said my uncle. ‘Sadly I can’t go, I am still recovering from my wounds.’

‘I must remain here as well,’ said Faramir, ‘though with all my heart I wish I could join you.’

‘Who shall be placed in command of Minas Tirith?’ asked Imrahil. ‘I don’t like the thought of leaving it unguarded.’

‘Reinforcements will be arriving from Pelargir tomorrow,’ Aragorn explained to him. ‘As for its command, Lord Faramir can begin his role as Steward of Gondor.’

‘I am honoured, my king.’

‘Would you like any assistance ruling the city?’ my uncle offered him.

‘I thought you were looking for some rest.’

‘I get bored very easily. I think a pair of cripples can look after this place for a while.’

My uncles joke won a few chuckles from the others in the hall.

‘Sauron may suspect a trap,’ Gandalf cautioned us.

‘He will take the bait,’ Aragorn answered.

‘Certainty of death,’ started Gimli, ‘small chance of success,’ and then with a smile, ‘what are we waiting for?’

‘So when do we leave?’ asked Jason.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Aragorn answered.

‘Good. Gives me enough time properly live for one last night.’

Father Harold was the most obvious in rolling his eyes.

…

That evening, as many members of the company were being knighted by Lord Robert and some of the others, and I was watching on, Father Harold was with Sunniva in the Houses of Healing Gardens. Lady Eowyn was asleep and it gave Sunniva some time to speak with the priest.

‘You are sure you are ready?’ he asked her.

‘Yes. I’m certain and I’m ready to be baptised.’

‘In that case, we need to prepare. The army will be leaving tomorrow morning, and I’ll be going with them.’

‘Why?’

‘I feel that it is my duty to be there. Just to be there at the end for good or ill. I believe we may be able to perform the ceremony tomorrow at dawn.’

‘Excellent. I’ve given some thought to my baptismal name as well.’

‘What have you chosen?’

‘At first I thought Mary was appropriate.’

‘It certainly would be.’

‘But I decided against it. When we were talking in Edoras you told me about some of the important women of the church, and I remembered one of them. I’d like to take her name at my baptism.’

‘Who?’

‘Hilda.’

‘In honour Saint Hilda of Whitby?’

‘From what you told me of the old English people, their names don’t sound different to those of Rohan and I love my country and my people. I’d feel better taking a name close to them.’

‘I understand my dear. If you wish, we can perform the ceremony in these gardens tomorrow. Is there anyone you wish to be there?’

‘Cenric, John, his cousins as well and Baron James if he is feeling up to it.’

‘I will invite the English, you can invite your brother. After that, well, I suggest you get some sleep. There will be little peace in the days to come.’

‘There’s something else,’ she said quickly.

‘Then tell me my dear.’

‘It’s my father. What’s happened to him?’

He thought for a few moments on how to answer, knowing that she may not like what the old church in Rome would say about it.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘Under the churches laws, only one who has been baptised may enter the Kingdom of God, but I’m not sure.’

‘Meaning?’

‘When I was a young man, I was a man of war, a man with strong beliefs in everything my priest proclaimed from his pulpit. Over the years I have changed, and I have seen things. I have seen men who prayed for days on end to be lost in a haze of rape and murder hours after leaving church, and yet I once saw a Jew, half blind, missing a hand and wearing only rags, dragging a wounded man out from under a pile of corpses and taking him to a healer even as men spilt blood all around him. I can only say that God knows who his true servants are. Every man who has gone to war has said that God is on his side, only God knows who is truly on his. I believe that your father has found peace, and if he lived his life honourably and did good in this world, he will enter the Kingdom of Heaven.’

He looked back to Sunniva whose expression had become one of relief, knowing that her father was at least safe in his death.

‘Thank you. Well, I’m going to say goodnight now.’

‘There is one last thing,’ Harold said as he reached into his cloak and from within drew out a book, bound in black leather. ‘I want you to take care of this while I am gone.’

‘What is it?’

‘My own personal Bible.’

‘Thank you, but I won’t be able to read it. You told me yourself that they’re written in, what was it, Latin.’

‘True, but for a while I worked on a secret project of mine. As far as I know, this is the only Bible written in English, or the Common Tongue as your folk call it.’

Sunniva looked at the book in her hands, realising now what she held.

‘How long did it take?’

‘To translate and write it, about three years. If I was found out, I may have been declared an enemy of the church.’

‘And you trust it to me?’

‘We are a bit beyond the reach of the church and the Inquisition here,’ he answered. ‘Just keep it safe until I return.’

‘What if you don’t?’

‘I trust you to work it out my dear. Goodnight.’

…

The next morning, in a quiet corner of the gardens, Father Harold, dressed as he was at Helm’s Deep, was leading the ceremony. Those of us who would be leaving with the army were already in our armour, ready for the journey ahead to the Black Gates.

Sunniva however was wearing a very simple white gown as she knelt before Harold. A small end table had been set up next to Harold, upon which had been placed a wide silver bowl of water and a few small jars of necessary oils (why he had them with him, he explained that sometimes the women who followed an army may give birth and he had to be prepared for a baptism at a moments notice). I looked at Sunniva, kneeling there solemnly, and then I looked at Cenric, standing at the edge of our part of the garden, his sorrow had turned to barely concealed anger. The look on his face was one thirsty for vengeance, and also one of curiosity at what his sister had decided to do. For Sunniva’s baptism, Father Harold did have to improvise slightly, as there was no one appropriate to be her godfather so he combined the rites of baptism and confirmation for the ceremony.

Everyone in attendance was myself, my uncle and my cousins, Cenric and Lady Eowyn, the latter two not taking part in the ceremony.

Because of the time of day, we were still slightly in shadow, but the first stretches of golden light had begun to reach across the sky.

‘Sunniva Hilda, daughter of Synnve and Cerdic, the people of Christ welcome you into our fold with great joy. In His name, I claim you for Christ our Saviour by the sign of his cross. I now trace his cross upon your forehead.’

With a small amount of the oil, he marked the cross onto her forehead before he continued.

‘My brethren, let us ask our Lord Jesus Christ to look upon Sunniva Hilda, who is to be baptised. By the mystery of your death and resurrection, bathe Sunniva Hilda in your light and grant her new life within the church. Lord hear us.’

‘Lord graciously hear us,’ we answered, except Cenric.

‘Through baptism, make Sunniva Hilda your faithful follower and a witness to your gospel. Lord hear us.’

‘Lord graciously hear us.’

‘Lead Sunniva Hilda by a holy life to the joys of your kingdom. Lord hear us.’

‘Lord graciously hear us.’

‘Keep Sunniva Hilda’s family always in your love. Lord hear us.’

‘Lord graciously hear us.’

‘Renew the grace of our baptism in each of us. Lord hear us.’

‘Lord graciously hear us.’

‘Holy Mary mother of God, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Joseph, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, Saint Andrew, Saint Hilda, pray for us.’

‘Pray for us,’ we answered.

‘All holy men and women.’

‘Pray for us.’

‘Almighty and every-living God, you sent your only Son into the old world to cast out the power of Satan, spirit of evil, to rescue man from the kingdom of darkness, and bring him into the splendour of your kingdom of light. We pray for this woman, set her free from original sin, make her a temple of your glory and send your Holy Spirit to dwell with her. Through Christ our Lord.’

‘Amen.’

‘Father, you have called your child, Sunniva Hilda, to this cleansing water that she may share in the faith of your church and have eternal life. By the mystery of this consecrated water, lead her to a new and spiritual birth. Through Christ our Lord.’

‘Amen.’

‘Sunniva Hilda, do you renounce Satan?’

‘I renounce him,’ she answered with certainty.

‘And all his works?’

‘I do renounce them.’

‘And all his empty promises?’

‘I do.’

‘Do you believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth?’

‘I do.’

‘Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, as crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father?’

‘I do.’

‘Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting?’

‘I do.’

‘This is our faith,’ he proclaimed. ‘This is the faith of our Christian Brotherhood. Though we are far away from the lands walked by Christ, we are proud to profess it, in Jesus Christ our Lord.’

‘Amen.’

‘Sunniva Hilda, is it truly your will to be baptised in the faith of the church?’

‘It is.’

He reached for the bowl of water and the wide spoon within, pouring it three times over her head.

‘Sunniva Hilda, I baptise thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.’

Harold held out his hand and I stepped to him, a white cloak in my hands, and handed it to him. The cloak had been a gift from Lady Eowyn who, after being told by Sunniva what she had agreed to do, offered to pay for it, rather than using the white scarf Harold had managed to get hold of. The cloak was made of white linen with a faint pattern of a rearing horse on its back and at its front a clasp made of silver with a single large garnet.

‘Sunniva Hilda, you have become a new creation, and have clothed yourself in Christ. See in this white garment the outward sign of your Christian dignity. With your family and friends to help you by word and example, bring that dignity unstained into the everlasting life of heaven. Please stand.’

She stood up and allowed Harold to place the cloak upon her shoulders, which Sunniva appreciated as the water and the chill of the early morning were not a good combination.

‘My dear brethren,’ Harold started, ‘this woman has been reborn in baptism. She is now called the child of God, for so indeed she is. In holy communion she will share the banquet of Christ’s sacrifice, calling God her Father in the midst of the Church. In the name of Sunniva Hilda, in the Spirit of our brotherhood, let us pray together in the words our Lord has given us.’

All of us who were Christian, now including Sunniva, knelt before Harold, aside from my uncle who, because of his injures, remained sitting in his chair. Together we recited the Lord’s Prayer, Sunniva very careful to say it correctly. Once we were done, Harold smiled at Sunniva and then at all of us.

‘Sunniva Hilda is now baptised in the name of the Lord. Sadly, this day will not be remembered for this joyous occasion, but as the one where the Army of the West will set out for the final battle to decide the fate of the world. We leave soon, go about your business until then my children. I will be granting the eucharist outside the companies barracks before the army leaves.’

Sunniva stood up and adjusted her cloak slightly, her brother approaching her first.

‘I’m still not sure why you wanted to do this, but I’m happy for you either way.’

‘Thank you,’ they hugged each other for a moment.

We slowly began to leave that part of the gardens, Sunniva and I walking together.

‘How do you feel?’ I asked her as the sun finally ascended into the sky.

‘Very good actually. I think I’ve done the right thing.’

‘You have. The cloak is beautiful on you.’

‘Thanks,’ she said and held it out around her, doing a spin and laughing. ‘I’ll pay back Lady Eowyn for it one day.’

‘I thought it was a gift.’

‘It is, but I don’t feel right having her pay for it. I’ll make sure she gets its worth back.’

‘A woman of honour,’ I said before the sad reality ahead. ‘We’ll be leaving for war soon. If you want time with your brother, go and be with him.’

‘He doesn’t want to talk, I tried through half the night. He’s taken our father’s death hard.’

‘I know the feeling.’

‘John, I’m worried about him. He might try to get revenge for his death by doing something reckless and getting himself killed.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’

‘You better. Just, promise me you won’t get yourself killed either.’

‘So no heroics?’

‘None.’

‘No great deeds?’

‘Absolutely not.’

The tone of our talk had become very relaxed now as we went through the list of things I was not allowed to do.

‘So, just a normal, nice little battle without anything memorable.’

‘Exactly. I want you coming back.’

‘But what if by pure accident I do something heroic?’

‘Then when you come back,’ she said and crossed her arms, making an exaggerated thinking face, ‘I’ll smack you on the head, and then kiss you.’

‘I’m tempted to have an accident then. It might just be worth it.’

‘I didn’t tell you what I’d smack you with.’

‘I’ll eagerly wait to find out.’

…

After we had communion by the gates, as thousands of men marched past us, most of the company mounted their horses. A few of us though waited a few moments. My cousins went to have a few last words with their father, seeing them off one last time before they went off for war. I however spoke with Sunniva.

‘I’ll see you again in a few days’

‘You better. Remember, no heroics.’

‘Or I get smacked in the head.’

‘Exactly.’

We shared one last kiss there before I walked towards my horse, only for my uncle to shout me over.

‘John!’

I stood with my two cousins before my uncle who gave me one last look.

‘Ever since your father died, well, I’ve done all I can to take care of you. All of you, the three of you, I was always afraid of this day, the day I would send you off to battle and I wouldn’t be able to come. I’ve been lucky to be in good health until,’ he looked at the stump at his elbow and sighed. ‘God be with you three. I will pray each day until you return.’

He embraced each of us in turn before bidding us to mount our horses and join the Army of the West. After a while, as we approached Osgiliath, I looked over my shoulder to take, what I feared, may be my last look at Minas Tirith. Thinking of Sunniva and my uncle, I turned my gaze east, towards the final battle.

**Historical Note: Saint Hilda of Whitby is one of the most important figures in the history of the English Church. She served as the Abbess of Whitby, was a talented administrator for the people under her care and was present at the Synod of Whitby where Roman Style Christianity was accepted for Northumbria.**


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: The Army of the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the war nears as the armies of Gondor and Rohan march on the Black Gates of Mordor...

Because of the honours done by my uncle, Aragorn and Imrahil agreed that our company should ride at the head of the army alongside the Dúnedain. Lord Robert, Marcus and Father Harold were at the front, the latter of them carrying our companies banner, alongside Aragorn, King Eomer, Prince Imrahil, Gandalf, the sons of Elrond, Legolas and Gimli, who were sharing a horse. A further sign of the respect now granted to the Hobbits was that Merry was sharing Eomer’s horse while Pippin rode with Gandalf. I with Richard, Jason and Edmund, as well as Cenric who had again agreed to be my squire, were just behind them. In the early morning of the second day of our march, we came upon crossroads where a statue stood, once portraying a great king, but its head had been torn off and a crude stone painted with an eye had been bolted in place by bands of rusting iron.

‘Let all know that the Lords of Gondor have returned,’ Aragorn said as soon as he saw it.

The head was found nearby, a crown of flowers had grown onto it, and Aragorn had a few men begin repairing the statue. Fearing the possibility of an attack from Minas Morgul, Aragorn ordered that a force of rangers be deployed in the area, and with Gandalf led a small force to the bridge leading to the Morgul Vale and destroyed it. Knowing that our path of retreat and the way to Minas Tirith was now secure, we marched in full confidence towards Mordor. It was a glorious sight to be sure, at the head of the Army of the West was King Elessar, as Aragorn will be remembered by history, clad no longer in the crude garb of a ranger, but in fine black leather, the finest ring maille and pauldrons carved with the shape of feathers, and from his shoulders a wonderful deep, black cloak. Now, truly, I saw more than just a man, but a king, a true, just king, so unlike Richard of England. Riding by the king was Eomer and Gamling, the latter bearing the Royal Standard of Rohan, tall and proud alongside that of Elessar, with the swan of Dol Amroth and the golden cross of our small but valiant company. The kings standard was being carried by a Gondorian soldier, its former bearer, Halbarad having been killed in the fighting outside of Minas Tirith.

At last, after three days of marching, all the greenery we were accustomed to in Ithilien had died out to be replaced by dry rocks and sand where only the most stubborn of weeds still clung onto life, resisting the corrupting evil of Sauron. Early in the morning of the fifth day of our advance, we found ourselves entering wide open plain before the mountains of Mordor. There we found it, the Black Gates, standing tall and arrogant, topped with fang like pinnacles of iron and flanked by a pair of tall towers, it was a dreadful thing to lay our eyes upon, and I was afraid upon seeing it, knowing tens of thousands of Orcs were waiting on the other side.

‘Now we are here,’ said Lord Robert.

‘What shall we do, my king?’ Imrahil asked him.

‘We’ll form our army into a hollow circle,’ he answered. ‘Our horses will be in the middle, our archers will be behind our men at arms.’

And so that is how we formed up, the English Company were amongst those directly facing the gates, and I stood there, with my pole axe ready. For a while we waited and when nothing happened, Aragorn and the leaders of the army, that being himself, Eomer, Imrahil, Gandalf, the Hobbits, Gimli and Legolas, Lord Robert, Marcus and Father Harold, rode towards the gates.

For Harold, he had never been more frightened than that day, looking upon what he had always thought the entry to Hell looked like. The banner in his hand felt heavy, as he waited for anything to happen.

‘Let the Lord of the Black Lands come forth!’ Aragorn declared. ‘Let justice be done upon him!’

Marcus was nervous as they waited, hating the wait and wishing for anything, even an attack would be more welcome that this waiting. Then the gates creaked open, the groaning of metal against metal screeching through the air as the way to Mordor opened so slightly. From the doors emerged a single rider, clad in ornate black clothes and a long cloak, not too different to what one would expect a bishop or diplomat to wear, yet still suited for battle as seen I his helmet, looking not unlike the head of a spider. Yet, the most horrific thing of all was this mans mouth, for it was twice the size of a normal mans and surrounded by split open, bloody, oozing flesh and his teeth were rotten, for the such is the nature of true evil, not just does it destroy, but it twists and malforms all it touches until all that was once good is forgotten.

‘My Master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome,’ he then flashed them a disgusting smile, blood dribbling from his many face wounds. ‘Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?’

‘We have not come to treat with Sauron, the Faithless and Accursed,’ Gandalf answered confidently. ‘Tell your master this, the armies of Mordor are to disband, Sauron is to depart these lands, never to return.’

The creature before them simply chuckled and shook his head as if he was scolding a chid.

‘Old Grey Beard, I have a token I was bidden to show thee.’

He reached into his robes and pulled out a strange thing, a shirt of ring maille, shining like pearls, but not large enough for a man to wear. Marcus was confused for a moment as to why someone would make armour for a child. Then he realised with horror that it was not for a child, but it was sized fine for a Hobbit. They had Frodo, he realised.

‘The Halfling was dear to thee I see,’ the Mouth of Sauron gloated before tossing the shirt to Gandalf who had tears in his eyes. ‘Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host.’

‘Frodo,’ sobbed Merry.

‘No!’ Pippin shouted

‘Silence,’ Gandalf commanded them before they let slip the plan.

‘What are you?’ Harold snapped. ‘Were you once a man like us? Did you have a mother and father? Did you have brothers and sisters? Was there a time where you had a wife and children of your own? I doubt all of this, for no true man would ever willingly give himself over to Sauron, to be twisted and corrupted. You are lesser than any Orc, and yet I have no anger for you, only pity, for one day soon you shall face eternal judgement.’

‘Pitiful, weak man,’ he scoffed at the priest. ‘We have both done evil, haven’t we? At least I am on the side of a master who is both strong and who I know leads me. Ah,’ he remarked when he saw Aragorn. ‘Here he is. Isildur’s heir. You should know it takes more than a broken blade to be a king.’

‘I know that,’ he answered with an icy voice, and in the blink of an eye drew his sword and severed the Mouth’s head.

‘That concludes negotiations,’ Gimli chuckled.

‘We’ve lost,’ said Robert. ‘We must retreat while we still can.’

‘He only spoke of one Hobbit,’ said Markus. ‘The other may be alive.’

‘Sam would do that if he had to,’ Pippin agreed, fighting back tears.

‘I refuse to believe it’s over,’ said Aragorn. ‘Are you all still with me?’

‘To the death my king,’ said Imrahil.

‘To the death,’ agreed Harold.

‘To the death,’ spoke up Marcus and then he looked at Robert who sighed.

‘To the death,’ he agreed.

The gates then began to open wider and wider, everyone looking through them at the most terrible sight in all of Middle Earth, Mordor, tens of thousands of Orcs and corrupted men, Trolls and other monsters, amongst them even were wicked Morgul Knights upon twisted steeds and above them, Barad Dur itself and at its peak, a burning eye.

‘Fall back!’ Aragorn shouted to the men of his company and as one they galloped back to the circle, where I stood next to Richard and Jason.

As the gates opened even I, to my shame, took a nervous step backwards, seeing just how many of our foes we were facing. Our leaders returned to us and rode their horses through our ranks, before climbing from their mounts and joining us, except for Aragorn, who held his bloody sword aloft.

‘Hold your ground! Hold your ground! Sons of Gondor! Sons of Rohan! Sons of England! My brothers! I see in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come, when the courage of men fails. Where we betray our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of Wolves! Of shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down! It is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear, I bid you stand, Men of the West!’

At that there was a flurry of movement as men drew their swords, raised their spears and cheered even as the Orcs advanced. At a steady rhythm, our enemies advanced, surrounding us, and I looked on the faces of my cousins and my friends, all of us afraid, all of us ready to accept whatever fate lay ahead. Father Harold stood just behind our part of the line, holding his banner high which blew in the wind.

‘Any regrets?’ I asked Marcus.

‘None,’ he answered.

‘One or two,’ was Richard’s response. ‘There was a pretty redhead in Minas Tirith I didn’t get to talk to.’

His small joke actually won a smile from me, and I thought of Sunniva, safe in Minas Tirith, for now.

‘I lost track of my regrets,’ Jason answered, unusually sombrely, realising he was probably about to die. With his one good eye he looked at me. ‘I never said goodbye to my mother before I left home. I’ll be able to say sorry to her soon.’

‘I’ll be able to see my father,’ I told him. ‘I hope he’s proud of me.’

‘I’m sure he is.’

‘My wife,’ said Edmund. ‘It will be nice, seeing her again.’

I looked at the merchant, his hands protected by gloves and over them, ornate rings he claimed from dead Haradrim after Pelennor Fields.

‘Thomas will be waiting for me,’ Mathew Fendrel said with a quivering voice.

‘You will see them again,’ said Father Harold, ‘but it will not be this day.’

I looked along the line towards the king who had stepped a little ahead, looking straight towards Sauron. For minute after minute he stood there, lowering his sword as if ensnared by some trance. Then, at last, he pointed his sword towards Sauron.

‘For Frodo!’ he announced and charged.

‘Frodo!’ the Hobbits cheered and were the first to follow him.

The archers let their arrows fly and all of us men at arms raced ahead, weapons raised, towards the enemy. I slammed shut my visor seconds before we crashed into the enemy lines. I rushed an Orc and ran him through with the spear of my poleaxe before punching another in the throat and then hacking down with the axe blade, almost cutting clean through the Orc’s neck. A short beast with an axe attacked me so I brought up the shaft of my weapon to block it before kicking the Orc between the legs, only for Jason to kill it with his bill.

It was a battle like no other, with the entire force of Mordor rushing forth from their home against us. It was like hacking into a forest with nought but a knife, always more and more of them rushing against us.

‘For my father!’ shouted Cenric, cleaving a head off with his axe.

‘Don’t leave yourself open!’ I snapped at him.

A large Orc, perhaps it was an Uruk even, swung at me with a crude two handed sword, splintering my poleaxe’s shaft. I stabbed at my foe with the spiked butt end of the weapon, cutting through the beasts throat, and then I hammered into an Orc’s neck with the head, still in my hand. That was when I drew Alaric and began slicing and cutting at my foes. Cenric fought at my side with such courage and anger that at moment I feared for his safety, but that wrath was tempered by enough common sense that I knew he would be safe. Suddenly there was a shout and I realised to our left, just at the point between the English and Gondorian’s the Orcs had managed to split us apart. Robert tried to shout from his position on the front to send men over to block it but no one could hear him.

Fortunately, someone did notice. Father Harold had placed himself before the Orcs, defiantly holding his banner with his left hand, his right hand beneath his cloak. The Orcs, their love of causing pain at heart, they rushed him, seeing an easy chance for blood. The first Orc, wielding a one handed axe, charged Father Harold but, in a single swift motion, parried the blow with the pole of his banner and drew a dagger from within his cloak, thrusting it into the Orc’s eye. He couldn’t withdraw the knife, being stuck in bone, so he grabbed the axe from the Orc, a peasant’s tool by the look of it, used for cutting kindling, and killed two Orcs in quick succession, before Mathew Fendrel and a dozen bowmen, Gondorian and English, rushed forwards and shot some of the Orcs. At that moment Harold turned to face those men and held high his banner.

‘Put aside your bows my sons and pick up your swords! It’s time to do God’s work!’

At his command they drew their backup weapons, falchions, axes, hammers and swords, and charged into the breach behind the priest, still wielding his banner and axe. With our companies banner now at the heart of the fighting, our willingness to fight only increased, and we kept fighting, even as many brave Englishmen fell dead around us.

Then came the screeching, one all too familiar, which saw all of us, even the Orcs, look up to the sky. Eight Wraith’s upon their Fell Beasts were sweeping down from the sky towards us, fangs and claws ready. At that moment I believed we were doomed, but then it happened, the Great Eagles came to our aid, claws against talons and jaws against beaks. Many of us cheered with joy at the sight, but then we were back in the fight, slaying Orcs as they came at us with savage glee. Directly over us, an eagle and a Fell Beast fought, snapping and clawing at each other, until the eagle won the advantage and bit into the Beasts throat, killing it. The monster fell towards the ground, crashing into the Orcs just ahead of the company. All of us froze in horror, realising what now faced us, and I gripped Alaric tighter, as the Ring Wraith stepped away from its mounts corpse, sword in hand. Even the Orcs backed away in fear of one of their masters greatest servants. This Wraith wore the dark robes of all its unholy brotherhood and also a suit of dark armour, twisted and yet ornate, black but not painted or forge darkened, more like no light could bare to touch it.

‘Stand your ground for God is with us!’ Harold declared, still gripping his axe.

The Wraith advanced on us, swinging its sword at Edward of Bristol, slitting his throat, before running through Sir Andrew Black. Lord Robert, followed by Tancred, took on the Wraith together, trading a few blows, before the monster won the upper hand, stabbing Robert through the foot, forcing him to his knee, before punching him in the neck, his entire throat and neck sundering to the blow, killing him. Tancred, seeing his father die, let out a scream of anguish so terrible than even some of the Orcs stepped back, and fell to hold his fathers body, ignoring the Wraith who moved on to kill other, better men. The Wraith cut through us, many of us having no choice but to back away as quickly as we could while not breaking ranks. It came face to face with Richard who fought with all his courage, trading blows with their swords, my cousin even laughing at one point at their duel.

The Wraith managed to hook my cousins sword with its own weapons cross guard and then pulled Richard’s weapon away. It seized Richard by the throat and lifted him up, Richard kicking and punching the whole time. Marcus and I raced ahead to aid our kinsman but the first to aid him was Father Harold who, with the spear head atop the banner, stabbed at the Wraith three times.

‘Unhand him demon!’ the priest declared.

His attack on the Wraith had done its purpose, getting its attention away from Richard for long enough to allow Marcus and I to help. We swung our swords at the beast who dropped Richard at last. However, with centuries of skill and training our enemy stopped every blow we hurled at it.

Richard had picked up a discarded sword and joined our fight against the Wraith. Never in all my life before or since have I faced such a dangerous enemy, never so certain have I been that I was going to die. I stabbed again and just managed to cut the Wraith’s robes. By then it had enough of us and threw itself upon Richard first, dealing him a backhanded blow which threw him through the air and into the packed ranks of Orcs. We lost sight of him there and I feared him dead.

Then it swung at Marcus, tearing apart his tabard before bringing down the pommel of its sword onto his shoulder. I heard metal and bone break beneath the blow as his armour buckled. Even through his helmet I heard my cousin scream in pain as he stumbled away.

I didn’t back down, I couldn’t. I stood in the path of the Wraith and with Alaric gripped in my hands I fought as hard as I could. At last it got the upper hand over me, finally pushing me down to the ground and I dropped Alaric in the process, my sword clattering to the ground by me. The darkness of the Wraith’s hood seemed to surround me, numbing my body and almost devouring all warmth and hope from my body, from my very soul.

‘God help me,’ I whimpered, feeling my eyes welling up with tears.

A form struck into the side of the Wraith, Richard. His gauntlets were black and dripping with Orc blood, his helmet gone and a deep cut in the side of his face, exposing bone in places, a cleaver in his hands, he attacked the Wraith as another darted into the fight. It was Cenric and he swung his axe into the back of the Wraith, piercing its plate and drawing a harsh scream from the undead fiend.

The Wraith swung its sword and splintered the shaft of Cenric’s axe in a single explosive blast, throwing the young man of Rohan back. The Wraith was about to go after him when Richard attacked again. The Wraith blocked a blow from my cousin and wrenched his sword away from him. The Ring Wraith prepared the bring its sword down on Richard with both hands clasped around its black blade, but at the last moment Richard reached up and grabbed hold of the Wraith by the wrist as its blow began. He gripped hard, keeping his hands against the Wraith, keeping the sword back. He let out a loud, painful scream as they grappled, every ounce of strength he had going into holding the enemy back but little by little, my cousin was forced down, inch by inch this creature with the power of Hell on its side overpowered Richard until, with one last desperate gasp of air, he fell to the ground.

The Wraith was about to stab down at Richard’s vulnerable form when something made it stop, it turned to the Mordor again and let out of shout of both realisation and pure terror. It was at that moment that something dormant in me decided to wake, as if it had been locked away my entire life only now coming to the fore. I reached for Alaric one last time and when my fingers gripped around the handle, something drove back all the shadows, the cold and the dark, giving me fresh strength. I stood again and let out a fierce battle cry. The Wraith turned to face me and we began our duel.

I swung Alaric down in a shining arch and it raised its own sword. For an eyeblink the two weapons were locked, Alaric’s blade glowing as if on fire, and the garnet eyes of the unicorn like hot coals, then my enemies blade shattered into a thousand pieces. Carrying on, I thrust Alaric into the chest of my foe. It screamed in pure agony as flames raced up its robes, falling to its knees before the robes fell empty, collapsing into a pile of smouldering cloth. Everything that powered me there than faded, my strength failed, I allowed Alaric to fall from my grasp, thudding into the ground. I looked around me at my fellow men and they looked back at me, stunned. I fell to my knees, growing weaker as my eyes darkened again. Looking ahead, I heard a faint rumbling and the last thing I saw was the Dark Tower of Barad Dur begin to fall.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three: Knights of the Golden Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace is won and the destiny of Gondor, and the Harris family, is decided...

**AN: So it has been brought to my attention that I made a pretty big mistake in this chapter. This is the corrected version. Woops.**

Chapter Twenty Three

Knights of the Golden Cross

Cast adrift in an ocean of shadows I drifted for what felt like a hundred thousand years. All was pain and suffering, the faces of Thomas Fendrel, Oswald, my mother, my father, all looking at me as I felt pain. There was Sunniva sitting alone, sorrow written across her beautiful face. It was as if I was trapped in a dungeon with no escape, all turning to darkness and cold. I was so cold.

Only then was I at rest. The cold began to drift away from me, replaced by a gentle heat, and I was at peace at last. Eventually I managed to open my eyes, only to shut them again because of the bright light. Nervously I opened them again, able to see at last where I was, a small, comfortable room with a bed I was on, a desk, a wardrobe and a fireplace, the small fire within burning happily. Carefully sitting up, I thought about what happened. The Wraith. My cousins, where were they? I had to find out. However, the moment I began to move I noticed the man sitting in the chair at the desk, who had previously been looking over some paper. He saw me move and sighed in relief.

‘You’re awake. Please get back in bed.’

‘Where am I?’

‘Minas Tirith, at the Houses of Healing.’

‘What about the others?’

‘On the way back. Mithrandir flew you and a pair of Halflings back here on one of the giant eagles, the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘He did?’

‘He did. Now, wait here. Your uncle asked that he be told as soon as you awoke.’

‘How long was I asleep?’

‘Since yesterday. Just wait here.’

He left and I remained in bed, thinking about everyone who hadn’t made it back. Robert had died, I’d seen him being half decapitated. After only a few minutes the door opened and my uncle, his face filled with worry, rushed through, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

‘John you’re alive!’ he shouted and staggered towards me, catching me in a heavy hug.

My uncle had never been one for acting like that so I was surprised for a moment until I embraced him too.

‘We lost a lot of men,’ I told him. ‘Robert’s dead.’

‘Gandalf told me. Oh John, when Gandalf brought you here I thought you were dead. You didn’t even look alive. Just to see you safe, oh I’ve never been so grateful in all my years. I promised your father I’d keep you safe.’

‘I’m happy too, I survived, so did Richard and Marcus. We’re all alive.’

‘And I’m happy you did. If you hadn’t survived,’ he stopped and shook his head. ‘Let’s not think of that.’

‘What happened to me, uncle? I was fighting, I think I defeated a Ring Wraith and then, and then everything went dark.’

‘Gandalf called it the Black Breath, it’s the same cursed weapon which left Lady Eowyn almost dead. You’re lucky John. Aragorn treated you personally and then Gandalf brought you and the Hobbits back here on giant eagles.’

‘The tower,’ I suddenly remembered. ‘I saw the tower fall.’

‘The Hobbits did it. They managed to destroy that damnable ring, but it took a lot out of them.’

‘So the fighting’s over.’

‘It’s over. The war is over. The war is won,’ he smiled and looked at me one last time. ‘I’m just glad you’re alright. Are you hungry?’

‘Starving.’

‘I’ll have someone send food up to you. I was in a meeting when I was told you were awake, I’ll have to get back to it.’

‘I understand uncle.’

‘I’ll see you again later.’

When he reached the door he stopped for a moment and nodded at someone outside before he walked off. A second later Sunniva walked into the room and as soon as she saw me, she ran up to my side and kissed me. Of course, I was happy to see her, and I held close to me as we kissed until at last the need to breath forced our kiss to break.

‘I thought you were going to die,’ she said and then we kissed again.

‘I was always going to come back,’ I promised in another break in our kissing.

‘John, you fought a Ring Wraith and survived. Not many survive that.’

We kissed yet again and when that ended she just looked at me and smiled.

‘Didn’t you say you’d hit me if I did anything heroic.’

‘I’d rather kiss you.’

I of course obliged her.

…

The next day I sat alone in the gardens, Alaric at my side, looking towards Mordor. The clouds over that land were diminishing and the view eastwards was actually becoming pleasant to look at. Sunniva was with Lady Eowyn at that time, and in truth I was glad I could be alone to think. I had seen so many men die over the course of my life, the first time I’d seen death, the first time I’d taken a life, was in a tournament in a jousting accident. The poor man I killed was in his first proper joust, his family understood it was an accident, but I still remember it. In battle I’d killed many men, I’d seen many men die, but the War of the Ring had been like nothing I’d ever seen before.

Now it was all over, now it was a time of peace.

My melancholy was then interrupted when I realised I was no longer alone. Looking over my shoulder I saw Gandalf looking at me.

‘Sir,’ I said to him. ‘How are the Hobbits?’

‘They’ll recover,’ he answered. ‘Samwise will be allowed to leave his room this afternoon. Frodo, he may be asleep for days.’

‘So they did it. They cast the Ring into Mount Doom.’

‘They did,’ the wizard said as he sat on the bench next to me. ‘What they did, it will stay with them until the end of their days. How do you feel?’

‘A bit tired to be honest, but I’m too restless to stay in bed.’

‘I understand. Aragorn himself saw to your affliction on the battlefield.’

‘He did?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Yes. He brought with him a weed called Kingsfoil, useful for dealing with the Black Breath.’

‘I will thank him when he returns. When will the army get back?’

‘Three days, maybe four. Congratulations on your own victory, to defeat one of them in battle, to kill one, is no small feat.’

‘Thank you Gandalf.’

‘I saw the Black Rider fall from the sky and I tried to help you but the fighting was so thick around me that I couldn’t fight my way through.’

‘I understand. All of us knew what we were getting into, going into battle there. We knew we wouldn’t all come back from it, but we lost Robert, we lost Sir Andrew, so many men gone.’

‘The eternal price of war.’

‘How did I do it?’

‘Defeat the Ring Wraith? I can’t be sure but allow me to see your sword.’

I unsheathed Alaric and handed it to the wizard who studied the blade, looking at the ivory unicorns head at the pommel with interest.

‘Well?’

‘It is a fine sword, John, a fine sword indeed, but I feel nothing in it except the metal and leather of a sword. Many of your friends, they said that they saw this sword glowing, as if it was freshly pulled from a forge as you slew the Dark Marshal.’

‘But how? I went to the forge this blade was made in, I knew the smith and he was a normal man.’

‘Extraordinary things happen my friend during the heat of battle, and miracles affect us all. Perhaps there was something special about the forge or the castle it was made itself, or perhaps in your bloodline.’

‘I doubt it. I can trace my family for the past four centuries, we were soldiers serving our King William the First, awarded Widford for service in war.’

‘I know, your grandfather told me of this heritage as well, but I wonder. Your uncle and your grandfather have both been called Erucaunion by many people of great knowledge. I wonder.’

‘What is it Gandalf?’

‘I don’t know, perhaps all will be known in time, perhaps all will be revealed one day. If I were you John, I would not worry about the reasons for this, for your victory. Be grateful you still live and enjoy your life from this day on.’

I passed the next few days recovering my strength, mostly alone. My uncle busied himself with working, handling mostly matters involving clearing the rubble, collecting discarded weapons and rebuilding destroyed property. Lord Faramir on the other hand was responsible for food, organising the medical treatment of the wounded and the morale of the city’s people. My uncle even rode out to Osgiliath on one day, against the advice of the Healer who was tearing his hair out on the matter, to inspect the repairs to the cities eastern walls. However, the trip left him exhausted afterwards, his leg still hadn’t healed, and he remained in bed for the entirety of the next day. My uncle’s work however made it so he didn’t have much time to come and see me, but I didn’t mind, enjoying the solitude and being able to think.

My main companion in those days, waiting for the return of the army, was Sunniva, and we had lunch together frequently. The main topic of our conversations was what it meant to be a Christian, though at the time she didn’t reveal the existence of Father Harold’s Bible. On the fourth day, the day the army returned, we were having a meal in my room.

‘I’m still rather confused about the part over not killing,’ she said before taking a sip of her juice. ‘I mean, on principle it’s a good thing, but surely history has shown that killing in war is right and execution is the right punishment for some crimes.’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t think God would find any problems with slaying Orcs but killing other men, I’m not sure. One priest I talked to said that killing in war may be right if the cause is just.’

‘Fighting Sauron was certainly a just cause.’

‘Certainly.’

Just then there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ I said and my uncle entered the room, nodding at Sunniva before addressing me.

‘They’re back,’ he told us. ‘The army’s just crossed the river. They’ll reach Minas Tirith in an hour.’

‘Excellent,’ I said and stood up, ready to see my cousins again. ‘Shall we go and meet them?’

‘Not with my leg the way it is. Gandalf and Lord Beregond have agreed to ride out and meet them. You, me and Lord Faramir will wait for them at the steps to the throne room. We will welcome them back as conquering heroes.’

‘I’ll be honoured to stand with you.’

‘Excellent. Lady Sunniva, I’d like Lady Eowyn to be there as well, go and tell her that we expect her if she’s finished inspecting Lord Faramir’s tonsils.’

And with that, and laughing to himself, he left us and I looked at Sunniva whose face was quickly draining of colour.

‘What did he mean by that?’ I asked her.

‘Oh nothing,’ Sunniva said and started to hurry off to find Lady Eowyn.

After I moment I realised what my uncle meant, and I too started laughing.

Later, dressed in my best clothes, I stood on the steps of the throne room behind my uncle. The front rank of those of us on the steps was my uncle, Faramir, the leading members of the city council, including Lord Cylcoth, Lady Eowyn and the Hobbit Samwise. Behind them, sharing a step with me, were their attendants, sons and daughters, meaning I was standing next to Lady Sunniva. The courtyard was lined with soldiers dressed in their best armour and cloaks, as well as most of the leading lords and freemen of the city. Soldiers had lined the entire road from the gates up to the citadel itself, the people of the city welcoming the heroes back. We could hear cheering getting louder and louder as they approached until at last the heroes of the war emerged onto the courtyard. Aragorn led them, as did Beregond and Gandalf, following them came Eomer, Imrahil, Merry, Pippin and Gimli and Legolas. After them came our companies leaders, Harold, Edmund and Jason with my cousins who both smiled as soon as they saw me, Marcus had his right arm in a sling and the deep wound on Richard’s face was stitched shut, giving him a slightly pulled look on his face. He was alive though, that’s all I cared about.

They dismounted their horses and approached the steps, all of us bowing to the knee, except for my uncle he leaned over forwards, supported by his cane.

‘Rise my friends,’ Aragorn announced. ‘We have returned triumphant, and let this day mark the end of chaos and war. I will a hold a meeting of the council at once, King Eomer has agreed to attend, Baron, you and your companies leaders are invited as well.’

‘I will be delighted to attend, my king,’ my uncle answered.

…

That afternoon I waited in the yard outside of the throne room, looking at the white tree, blossoms beginning to grow across its branches. Marcus, Richard and Sunniva were with me, leaning against the wall and looking down at the city below which was still singing in celebration.

‘Gandalf said that across the world, the word is spreading. He said that soon all will know that Sauron is dead and the world is at peace,’ Marcus said with a smile.

‘I’ll need a new hobby,’ Richard said and leaned far back against the wall.

‘Sewing perhaps?’ suggested Sunniva.

‘Not these hands. Not delicate enough.’

‘Why aren’t you in there?’ I asked Marcus.

‘I think the king said something about surprising us all,’ he answered. ‘It’s odd, I’m used to being with my father in meetings. How do you two pass the time?’

‘We spar,’ I said. ‘We drink. I stop Richard drinking too much. I usually fail and drag out of the tavern then throw him in a barrel of cold water to get him back in shape before your father realises.’

‘I should be surprised,’ the oldest of us laughed.

‘How long will your arm be in the sling?’

‘About a month, my armour protected me form most of the damage from the Wraith’s blow but he still broke my collar bone.’

‘How’s Cenric?’ I asked my cousins and Sunniva who had talked to him.

‘Still forlorn,’ Sunniva answered. ‘He’s still dealing with the loss of our father.’

‘He’ll need time,’ I told her.

‘I know but he’s my little brother. It’s my job to protect him.’

‘I know the feeling,’ Marcus noted.

‘So, what will we do next?’ I asked them all. ‘We’re at peace and my cousins, we are landless nobles.’

‘Hopefully not for long,’ said Marcus. ‘When wars happen and lords die, someone needs to take over their estates. If Ithilien is to be retaken, perhaps we will be given land there.’

Just then the doors of the citadel were opened and a large number of people proceeded out. First we saw Faramir and Eowyn walking out hand in hand, followed by Imrahil who was speaking with Eomer.

‘Will you need to tend to Lady Eowyn?’ I asked Sunniva.

‘I think she’ll want some privacy for a minute.’

‘Only a minute?’ asked Richard. ‘Poor Eowyn.’

‘Shut up,’ Marcus laughed, as did the rest of us.

My uncle was one of those who left the throne room, followed by Jason, Edmund and Harold. They approached us and we headed towards them, meeting near the White Tree.

‘What’s the news?’ Marcus asked his father.

‘The king has been generous in handing out titles and awards to his loyal followers, he’s made Faramir Prince of Ithilien and that’s just a start. The king will be crowned on the first of May,’ he told us. ‘After that, I am to officially receive my reward.’

‘And that is?’ I asked.

‘Go ahead,’ Jason said, a broad smile on his face. ‘Tell them my Lord.’

‘I am to keep the honorary title of Castellan, though with none of the powers of the official role, and I am allowed to wear a scarlet cloak as a mark of that.’

‘And the rest,’ insisted Jason like a child on the eve of a celebration.

‘Calm down Jason, I’m enjoying this. I have been granted in exchange for my efforts, and for my wounds, the title of Lord of Osgiliath.’

‘The city?’ asked Richard.

‘Yes. It will be my duty to see to its rebuilding, its repopulation and its return to prosperity, and is to be in my line from now on. My sons, my nephew, we have a title again.’

The three of us cheered and my cousins embraced their father while I stood back, smiling and happy.

‘I got a reward as well,’ said Jason. ‘The king knew I didn’t want a castle or anything but he insisted on giving me the deed to a large farm in Ithilien, well, it used to be a farm, overgrown now. I’ll let someone who knows what they’re doing rent it. Your uncle’s offered me to be his new Master at Arms, and I’ve agreed.’

‘Good to know we’ll still have you around,’ I said to Jason and I shook his hand.

‘I was offered the same,’ said Edmund, ‘and I accepted, though I’ll do the same that Jason’s done. I prefer the cities over the countryside.’

‘He’s offered the same to all the men of our company,’ my uncle explained. ‘It’s been offered to many of the other veterans of the war as well as a way of paying them for their service.’

‘I on the other hand have a lot of work to do,’ our priest spoke up.

‘How so, Father?’ asked Sunniva, bowing her head to him in a gesture of respect.

‘The king has agreed to allow me to rebuild the church in this land and has agreed to let me use the title of Archbishop of Minas Tirith.’

‘Congratulations,’ I said to him and shook his hand, as did my cousins and Sunniva.

‘Thank you. Now, I’m going to see a tailor and find out if anyone in this world has any idea what a mitre is.’

‘I’ll see the three of you in the barracks in an hour,’ my uncle said to Edmund, Jason and Harold who agreed and left us. My uncle looked at us and smiled. ‘Aragorn has sent riders and carrier birds out across Middle Earth to spread the word of our victory, and invitations to his coronation. The Great Eagle’s volunteered to bring the message to Erebor, and I sent a letter with them to my father.’

‘What did you say?’ I asked him.

‘That I am alive and we are here. I told him about Daniel and of you all. Once the king is crowned formally, I will travel north to Erebor and see him again.’

He kept his voice at a steady tone, but I could see his eyes watering.

‘All these years I thought he was dead. I need to speak with the king but I expect to see you boys at the barracks in an hour. Lady Sunniva, always a pleasure to see you.’

‘You as well my lord.’

My uncle went back to the throne room and I bid farewell to Sunniva, kissing her on the cheek before I and my cousins went down into the city and then to the barracks.

…

Later that afternoon, all of us who were left alive gathered in the mess hall of the barracks given to our company when my uncle first arrived in Minas Tirith. I looked around us at all the men who had survived the fighting, at all the men who had not fallen in the defence of justice, and then imagined the faces of those we had lost. Of the hundred of us who first came from Enfland, only fifty two of us were left alive, including the squires too young to fight. I was sitting with Marcus, Richard, Mathew Fendrel and Heinrich. I looked over to my uncle sitting at the head table with Jason, Edmund and Father Harold, and then over at Tancred with a few of his friends in a corner of the room. His father had never supported fighting in this war had had paid the ultimate price in it.

At last my uncle stood up and cleared his throat, winning the attention of everyone.

‘My friends, this war has been hard on us, on all of us, and we have all paid the price of victory. All of us together have lost our friends and kinsmen. We have all suffered, and there may not be a way to return to England. As many of you know, I have been offered lordship of Osgiliath, and I have accepted it, but I do not wish to bare that burden of leadership alone. With the permission of the king, I will form an order of knights to protect Osgiliath and myself, the Knights of the Golden Cross. I invite you, my friends, to become the first members of this order, so that we may make Osgiliath the jewel of Gondor together. Not just that though, when we first met, we were strangers, renegades and fugitives fleeing a disaster. Through battles, through this war, we are now something else. We are a brotherhood who have fought in a war harder than any we could have imagined. I look at you and see brothers in blood, it would be wrong to go our separate ways forever but let us be united for the rest of our days, together. Will anyone join?’

After a few moments passed, Marcus was of course the first to stand up, and then did Jason.

‘Just so you all know,’ Jason spoke up, ‘there’s no vows of chastity involved or else I wouldn’t be signing up.’

Earning a slight laugh at that I stood up, as did many others, one at a time, the last to stand being Tancred.

‘Then are we together in this my friends. Now, let us look to the future together, in the name of King Aragorn Elessar! For God and Gondor!’

‘For God and Gondor!’ we all echoed him, holding up our mugs, Father Harold smiling as he looked on and my uncle with an expression of relief.

And so we were the first members of the Knights of the Golden Cross.

…

That night, as many of us were asleep, Father Harold sat in a quiet tavern in the upper levels of the city in a private room with Gandalf as they discussed many matters.

‘I will not lie, when I saw what you did to Theoden I began to suspect that you were more than just a man who knows magic,’ the new Archbishop said to the wizard.

‘Indeed. With what you know now, what will you do?’

‘The Valar, they are an interesting thing aren’t they? Powerful being created by this, Eru Illuvitar.’

‘Yes. What do you think of them, and of Illuvitar. All in Middle Earth believe in him, though not all pray to him.’

‘God has been known by many names for a long time. By the way you have described him, of his wrath against Númenor, it seems that Eru is just the name he is called by here. These Valar though, they shall be he first beings of this world to be declared Saints.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, for what else could they. Varda and the Virgin Mary shall stand shoulder to shoulder in reverence, as Oromë shall stand with Saint Michael, and let Morgoth be hated as but another face, another name of Lucifer. But as for you Gandalf, if what you have said of what you are is true, then you should also be revered.’

‘No my friend, no. I have never desired reverence, only to protect the people in my charge.’

‘Very well, but if not our reverence, at least our respect.’

‘That I will accept.’

‘I swear, this time, we will do it right.’

**AN: This chapter was admittedly just a chance for our characters to catch a breath now that the war is over. I felt that James Harris deserved a good reward for his service and being made Lord of Osgiliath I think fits the bill for him.**


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC’s

Chapter Twenty Four

The Coronation

The days leading up to the coronation were filled with activity. Naturally, news of my uncle’s new position as Lord of Osgiliath spread quickly through the city and many of the common people and the nobility supported the decision. His actions and sacrifices had made my uncle one of the most popular men in Gondor, a few of the cities taverns had renamed themselves in his honour, one which he drank at renaming itself “The Castellan’s” and one taking the name “Harris’s Place”, the latter one Sunniva and I visited a few times as it was in an out of the way part of the city, and to this day remains a favourite of many English and the families they have raised since then, and one or two of the nobles even approached Father Harold asking about converting as a way of honouring their new hero by adopting his religion. In addition to this, as a way of showing us as my uncle’s men, the king allowed us members of the Knights of the Golden Cross to wear scarlet cloaks similar to the Lord Castellan cloak as a mark of our loyalty. Perhaps the best part was that my uncle grew stronger over the course of April, being able to ride again without much discomfort.

During the days after the army returned there was naturally a lot of celebrating, but most people seemed content to wait for the proper celebrations after the coronation to go all out. However, there were a few incidents where partying got a little out of hand, resulting in Richard being barred for life from one inn. That incident also incurred the wrath of Lord Cylcoth of all people after Richard was found dancing in the street with Lady Calwel, his daughter. Fortunately nothing inappropriate happened so both their reputations were safe. Furthermore, we found that Marcus recovered from his injury much faster than we originally expected and while it would be some time before he could safely use a sword again, he didn’t need to wear the sling anymore.

Over the weeks, dignitaries from across Gondor and Rohan arrived, and beyond, with many elves arriving from Lorien and Mirkwood, shortly followed by the Dwarven delegation from Erebor who arrived only two days before the coronation itself. A group of Dwarves riding stout ponies with men on horses approached the city and Gimli went out to meet them first while I, my uncle cousins waited by the empty gateway. At last they arrived, the leader was a formidable looking Dwarf with a long grey beard and his facial features I thought looked familiar.

‘James Harris,’ he said after dismounting his pony and shaking hands with my uncle. ‘I almost can’t believe it’s actually you. I am Gloin, Gimli’s father.’

‘It’s an honour to meet such an esteemed Dwarf, Lord Gloin. You were a part of the same company as my father?’

‘Aye, and I’ve had the honour of calling him my friend these last sixty years. You look just like he did perhaps twenty years ago.’

‘I suppose my father was surprised when he got my letter.’

‘He was indeed, I’ve never seen him so joyous. We were all excited about the news, hearing that you were here, it almost took a decade off him, though he was saddened when he learned about Daniel’s fate. I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

‘He always believed he would see you again. Spent twenty years wondering Middle Earth, looking for a way to return to England, but now you’ve come to him.’

‘Fate is a strange mistress, but I thank her now.’

‘And these are the grandsons?’ he said and looked at the three of us.

‘Yes, this is my eldest son, Marcus, my youngest, Richard, and my nephew, John.’

‘It’s good to meet you both. You Marcus, you look so alike Bartholomew when he was a young man.’

‘I’m glad to hear it sir.’

‘Come Lord Gloin, the king will want to meet you, and I suppose you and Gimli will want to share tales over some ale.’

‘Only if you will join us James,’ Gimli happily spoke up.

‘I’ll be glad to.’

‘Just so you know, I’ve brought a few kegs of the good Dwarven spirits with me, some for the king as a gift, but a few for us.’

For understandable reasons, my uncle had a headache the next morning, but a good deal was made between Erebor and Gondor, that as a proper gift they would rebuild the cities gates from Mithril. The deal was signed quickly enough and they agreed to remain as guests for a while longer. Furthermore, while Sunniva and I were enjoying a horse ride through Pelennor fields the day before the coronation, we talked about more happy news.

‘So they’re getting married?’

‘Indeed they are,’ she answered. ‘Mind you, I knew that Lady Eowyn and Lord Faramir were interested in each other the day after I arrived here. Naturally I couldn’t say anything, and then your uncle said in front of you that they were kissing.’

‘I suppose that took some of the romance out of it.’

‘It was fun before as well, watching them trying to be sweet and private while I made sure no one was watching. Your uncle’s not one for being delicate, is he?’

‘No he’s not, but neither am I though.’

‘I know that,’ she said with a wink and I laughed.

‘An elven rider arrived earlier today,’ I told Sunniva. ‘Apparently the king’s betrothed will be arriving tomorrow.’

‘He’s getting married as well?’ she asked.

‘To an Elf princess apparently.’

‘There’s not been so many Elves in this part of Middle Earth in years. I got a glimpse of the Lady of the Golden Wood when she arrived last week.’

‘Me too. What did you think of her?’

‘I heard stories growing up of a powerful and dark sorceress of the woods, but when I saw her, she was incredible, and I couldn’t feel any malice from her at all.’

‘I felt the same, I was honestly awed when I saw her. Archbishop Harold nearly fainted though.’

‘Why?’

‘He thought that the Virgin Mary had appeared in front of him.’

Sunniva did chuckle at that of course as did I.

‘Jason’s not letting him forget it,’ I added on.

‘Speaking of His Grace, why was he wearing that funny hat?’

‘It’s a traditional bishop’s hat, called a mitre. He wants to be close to the old church while building something new.’

‘He didn’t speak well of the old church.’

‘I know, but he’s in charge of the new church so he gets to decide.’

‘Benefits of power. You know, I think we could reach Osgiliath if we ride hard.’

‘It’s still a bit dangerous there, a lot of the buildings could collapse. Besides, shouldn’t we get back?’

‘I suppose, but it is your uncle’s city now.’

‘Officially not until tomorrow.’

‘Lord of Osgiliath, it does sound good. To think, only two months ago, you were just another mercenary, now your uncle’s one of the great heroes of the west.’

_Don’t want him sitting around your castle forever._

I remembered the Earl of Northumberland’s words there.

‘I wouldn’t mind being more than just that.’

‘You killed a Ring Wraith,’ she reminded me. ‘I couldn’t be a happier woman.’

‘I know that, but I suppose I wouldn’t have minded having my own castle, my own land to pass on to my heirs. I love my uncle and I know he would let me stay with him for as long as he lived, but I don’t like being a burden, I owe him a lot for raising me.’

‘Oh John, something will come up. Besides, you don’t have any heirs yet to worry about that.’

She then made a suggestive gesture which made my jaw drop.

‘Sunniva,’ I gasped and she almost fell off her horse laughing at my expense.

‘You really are easy to tease, aren’t you?’

‘My natural charm, I’ll have you know.’

‘You’re certainly charming. We’d better start back to Minas Tirith.’

As we began to ride back to the city, our conversation changed towards our plans for the future.

‘Lady Eowyn has been satisfied with my service and she’s asked that I consider staying on after she marries and moves to Gondor properly.’

‘Excellent. We’ve both reached near the top. By the time we get back from Erebor I’d imagine you’ll all be settled in.’

‘We should be, but we’ll probably be remaining in Minas Tirith for a while, the whole of Ithilien is still in ruins. When will you be leaving for Erebor?’

‘The Dwarves were planning to leave a week after the coronation but they agreed to wait until after the kings wedding on midsummer’s day.’

‘How long will you be gone for?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s hundreds of miles away. We may not be back until the end of winter.’

‘Winter? But that’s so long away from now.’

‘I’ll miss you Sunniva, I really will.’

‘I wish you didn’t have to go. Don’t take that the wrong way, I know you want to see him, and he deserves to see your uncle again. I’ll just miss you.’

‘And I’ll think of you every day I’m gone.’

‘And I’ll be thinking of you.’

We were silent for a short time until Sunniva finally asked me what I had been thinking about.

‘What will we do when you return?’

‘I don’t know yet, but when I get back I’d want you to be with me.’

‘Are you asking me?’

‘Yes, I am. When I get back, will you be my wife? I mean, I love you, I care about you and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with. Will you marry me?’

‘Yes, yes I will,’ she answered quietly and our horses came close together so we could hands.

I leaned over and kissed her gently before we rode back to the city, happy to know what our future held.

…

The next day, when the sun was at its highest, the white tree was in full bloom and its blossoms danced through the air. The great courtyard atop the city was packed with nobles and soldiers, as well as many of the common folk of Minas Tirith who had won places to witness the coronation. I and the men of our order, all of us dressed in our polished armour, any dents of damage hastily repaired, and red tabards matching our cloaks, each one bearing a golden cross of fabric sown onto it. The exception to this was Father Harold who was wearing his new regalia of an Archbishop, a red cloak lined with sewn on crosses down the back, a golden surplice and polished boots, a red and gold mitre upon his head and in his hand a crosier, the shaft polished and the head of shining silver. We stood there on that glorious day and watched an event which would be remembered forever.

Aragorn and Faramir, both wearing their full plate armour and cloaks, stood at the top of the stairs leading into the palace alongside Gandalf wearing shining white, and Gimli in fine Dwarven armour brought by his father. Gimli held in his hands a black cushion upon which sat the ancient crown of Gondor’s line of kings. The air was thick with anticipation as we waited for the ceremony to begin. I looked across from us at the Rohan delegation where Lady Eowyn and her ladies were standing, dressed in beautiful dresses, and my eyes were drawn to Sunniva, radiant. We looked across at each other and shared a happy smile, remembering out talk the previous evening. We hadn’t told anyone yet, happy in it being a bit of a secret for now, indulging in it.

With a blast of horns, the ceremony began. Faramir stepped forwards and held aloft the Steward’s sceptre.

‘People of Gondor! Hear now the Steward of the Realm. One now has come to claim the kingship again at last! Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king of our people?’

With one voice all of us gathered there declared,

‘Aye! Aye! Aye!’

‘Then so be it, for with the will of the people, Aragorn Elessar shall be our king,’ he then bowed before Aragorn and held out his sceptre.

‘The last Steward begs leave to surrender his office.’

‘That office is not ended,’ he answered. ‘It shall belong to you and to your heirs as long as my line rules Gondor.’

‘Thank you, my king.’

Faramir then stepped away from the king, walking down the steps and joining the crowds, standing alongside Eowyn. Aragorn remained at the top of the stairs and knelt down before Gandalf who held up the crown.

‘Now come the days of the king! May they be blessed as long as the thrones of the Valar endure!’

‘Amen,’ I heard Harold whisper and when I looked at him, he gave me an innocent smile.

Gandalf carefully placed the crown upon Aragorn’s head. He remained kneeling for a moment before standing again and turning to face the crowds who applauded him, all of us cheering and clapping our hands. At last, the king raised his own hand to silence us.

‘This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us rebuild this world together, so that it may be shared in the days of peace.’

Again we applauded him, but soon we were silenced by the sombre yet hopeful words he began to sing as he descended the steps, walking among us.

‘Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!’

I didn’t know their meaning, but the regal words cut to my very soul, somehow telling me that the future was bright. He walked among us, his comrades in the battles of this war, nodding and bowing to each of them, to my uncle as well, and smiled at him. At last he reached the party of Elves from Rivendell where there stood Lord Elrond and next to him a beautiful Elf woman with raven hair. She and Aragorn slowly approached one another with a look in their eyes that could only be called love. They stood for a moment before Aragorn held her close in a passionate kiss and holding her up and spinning around together. Everyone close by of course cheered for them and laughed, though I noticed one or two young women in the crowd looking somewhat disappointed.

‘It must be good to be the king,’ Jason laughed to me.

Almost lost in happiness, Aragorn and Arwen walked on through the crowds until they reached the four Hobbits standing before them. As he was now a king, they of course bowed to him.

‘My friends,’ he said, ‘you bow to no one.’

In turn, Aragorn, then Arwen and then all of us, fell to our knees in gratitude for what these Hobbits had done. Their sacrifices and the greatest show of courage of the Third Age was shown to them by kings and lords falling to their knees.

…

The celebration that night was a great event in the throne room with all the lords and ladies of Gondor present, and the dignitaries from across Middle Earth. We feasted and drank, the wine and beer flowing easily. My uncle, myself and my cousin were invited, as were the other leaders of the Order, but Jason opted to not attend and went to join the parties in the city itself with many of the other men. Richard did try to sneak out with him but my uncle insisted he remain at the citadel for appearances sake. Music was playing and many couples danced, the king and Lady Arwen leading the dancing of course, and many of us joined them. I and Sunniva danced alongside Lady Eowyn and Prince Faramir, Marcus with a woman I didn’t recognise, though I later learned her name was Hethnina, daughter of Captain Hannastog who aided my uncle in building the cannons for the siege. Another meeting took place that night which would benefit Rohan when I spotted King Eomer dancing with Princess Lothíriel, Imrahil’s daughter.

After several dances, Sunniva and I retired to one of the tables at the side of the room while Richard decided to liven up the celebration by organising an impromptu drinking competition, both Legolas and Gimli stepping up to take part, on behalf of their kingdoms of course, Gamling volunteered to represent Rohan and Richard stepped up to represent our company before they were stopped by Faramir. His exact words were,

‘My friends, this contest shall take place later, and I shall represent Gondor, but let the important ceremonies take place first.’

They all agreed and soon after that the hall quieted as the king sat upon his throne, for most of the night he had sat with his friends from the Fellowship, but now he was on his throne. One by one he summoned some of those who had distinguished themselves in the war and granted them honours and titles. One of the greatest awards went to Faramir, granting him the title Prince of Ithilien. After Faramir he called out for my uncle who approached him and bowed deeply.

‘James Harris, Baron of Widford, son of Bartholomew, for leading the defence of Minas Tirith in its darkest hour, for creating weapons of wonder which fell so many of our foes, for being one of the last men to leave Osgiliath, for your courage and spirit and for your sacrifice of your arm, I grant you the title of Lord of Osgiliath, to be passed down to your heirs for as long as your line holds true.’

‘My king, I accept this honour with humility and gratitude. Osgiliath was once the greatest city of Gondor, and I swear that it will be again.’

We applauded him of course and we continued to applaud each man who was brought forwards to be granted honours, titles and lands. Richard was then called out to be granted a reward and he knelt before the throne.

‘Richard, son of James, I bore witness to your skill at arms at Helm’s Deep and in the defence of this city you stood alongside your father for many hours in the battle. That alone would grant you a reward for your service, but even more so you held back with your own hands a Nazgul. Even in the days of old when the blood of Numenor still ran thick in the veins of all the men of Gondor would such a feat have been difficult.’

‘I was but doing my duty to God, and in service to you,’ he answered, his usual casual attitude vanishing.

‘You pay yourself too little credit Sir Richard. Your brother will inherit the Lordship of Osgiliath, but to you and your heirs, shall be lands and castle of Fairin, in Ithilien.’

‘I am honoured sire. I will hold them in your name for as long as I live.’

We applauded my cousin of course as he came back to sit with the rest of us. At the end of it, I was surprised when my own name was called out.

‘Sir John Harris, son of Daniel.’

I stood up, trying to keep standing as I felt my legs turning to offal in surprise, looking up to the king who I saw sharing a look with my uncle. I knelt before the throne as he spoke.

‘Sir John, son of Daniel, for the courage you showed at Helm’s Deep, at Pelennor Fields and at the Black Gate, where you joined a very small group of those who claimed victory in battle against one of the Nine, a group which includes myself, my beloved and Gandalf, you are hereby granted the title of Lord of Barataur. May it be held by you and your heirs for as long as your line holds true.’

‘My king,’ I said, ‘I am both humbled and surprised. I accept your gift Your Majesty, and I will serve you faithfully for as long as I live.’

‘Then rise, Lord John.’

I stood up and bowed once more, being applauded by everyone else, as I returned to Sunniva, finding my uncle sitting with her. My uncle shook my hand and smiled.

‘It was the kings idea,’ he said and returned to Marcus at the next table.

I kissed Sunniva as soon as I sat next to her and looked upon her smiling face.

‘Well done John.’

‘Thank you, Lady Harris,’ was my response.

‘My goodness I’m going to be a proper lady,’ she gasped.

‘You always were as far as I could tell.’

‘I mean a lady with a title. God is kind to us.’

I looked at Sunniva and I could only smile at the woman I loved.


End file.
